Wings
by Claudia3
Summary: COMPLETE Severus and Hermione search for an antidote that will save Severus' life and thwart Voldemort's attempt at rising to power once again. Of course, innocents get drawn in. Featuring many characters, OFCs included.
1. The Winter Creature

Wings  
  
A Severus Snape/Hermione Granger Novella  
  
by Claudia  
  
Introduction  
  
Disclaimer: No money is being made with this story, nor is any copyright infringement regarding the Potterverse intended, which belong to J K Rowling, her respective publishers, and Warner Bros. Please kindly note that this story and any additions to the Potterverse are mine.  
  
You may print "Wings" for your own, private enjoyment, and/or pass it along to friends as long as you keep it free of charge and with all disclaimers, notes and my name intact.  
  
Rating: PG-13   
  
I would be most delighted if you contacted me for feedback and the like: wildwinterwitch@yahoo.co.uk  
  
~*~  
  
Book One:  
  
Chapter 1 – The Winter Creature  
  
Chapter 2 – Ebony and Ivory  
  
Chapter 3 – Tenebrae  
  
Chapter 4 – Dawn  
  
Chapter 5 – Dusk  
  
Chapter 6 – It Begins  
  
Chapter 7 – Meetings  
  
Chapter 8 – Old Friends  
  
Chapter 9 – Marzipan  
  
Chapter 10 – The Garden  
  
Chapter 11 – Stronger Than  
  
Chapter 12 – The Tempest  
  
Chapter 13 – The Tower, the Nest, and the Den  
  
Chapter 14 – First Fires and Other Burnings  
  
Chapter 15 – Boxed Moonlight  
  
Chapter 16 – Wednesday  
  
Chapter 17 – Wednesday Night  
  
Book Two:  
  
Chapter 1 – Mortar and Pestle  
  
Chapter 2 – Love Potions  
  
Chapter 3 – Hallowe'en  
  
Chapter 4 – The Grey Book  
  
Chapter 5 – Traveller's Hex  
  
Chapter 6 – The Mole  
  
Chapter 7 – About Conscience  
  
Chapter 8 – Revelations  
  
Chapter 9 – Thorolf the Thoughtful  
  
Chapter 10 – Decisions  
  
Chapter 11 – The Mummer  
  
Book Three:  
  
Chapter 1 – Desperate Measures  
  
Chapter 2 – I, Spy  
  
Chapter 3 – Wings  
  
Chapter 4 – Owl Post  
  
Chapter 5 – Death Eater's Mask  
  
Chapter 6 – Tuesday Night  
  
Chapter 7 – In Which Ri Meets a Heffalump  
  
Chapter 8 – Staff of Aesculapius  
  
Chapter 9 – Moony, Padfoot and Wings  
  
Chapter 10 – Darkling  
  
Chapter 11 – The Gift  
  
Chapter 12 – Perfect Deal  
  
Chapter 13 – The Potions Tutorial  
  
Chapter 14 – Darkling Again  
  
Chapter 15 – In the Serpent's Lair  
  
Chapter 16 –Brew Glory, Bottle Fame, Even Stopper Death  
  
Epilogue  
  
~*~  
  
Author's Notes  
  
I am very indebted to a number of people for help, thoughtful insight, inspiration, and just listening to my outbursts of creativity: Tina, also for her friendship, cocktails and sushi; Kirsten for listening to me and her helpful comments, Fabie for helping when she even hadn't read through it yet. My thanks go also to my ex for creative support; the concepts of Lovers' Light and Potio Fumosa are his creation, and he has helped me with questions regarding the plot. Your suggestions and enthusiasm are priceless.  
  
On a more general note thanks go out to my readers and subscribers who send feedback and so patiently wait for the next instalments, especially to Beaker and Neshome.  
  
I doubt that I would have gotten this far without you.  
  
~*~  
  
A note about "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix": The book was published when about three quarters of the story were written, so I have decided to take from Book V what suited my plot, i.e. given things like the interior of The Ministry and small things like this.  
  
~*~  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Claudia  
  
2004  
  
____  
  
Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
One  
  
The Winter Creature  
  
Hermione smiled broadly as she walked the cobblestone road that led from the train station into Hogsmeade. It had been far too long since she had last been here. The village didn't seem to have changed much, though, and it was as charming as ever. It felt almost like homecoming, in a way. Grouped around the central square were the shops she knew from her time as a student up at the castle: Dervish and Banges, Honeydukes, Gladrags, Quills and Quartos and the ubiquitous Quidditch Supplies Shop, of course. Lastly, her gaze fell on The Three Broomsticks, whose door was wide open, letting out a low rumble of its patrons' voices, the occasional laughter and the clinking of glasses.  
  
Right in front of her, she could see Hogwarts in the distance, veiled in the misty blue haze of a bright, warm summer day. Hermione almost voiced her sigh. Sometimes she wished she could go back to school and not worry about anything but her grades and enjoy life with her friends. But these days were over. If she entered Hogwarts, it would be as a visitor only. She had graduated summa cum laude three years earlier and had since then been enrolled at the International University for Magic, specialising in Arithmancy and Potions.  
  
From a pocket in her robes she produced a piece of parchment which served as a reminder for those things she needed to buy. Diagon Alley was a little bit too crowded for her taste and since she would probably get most of what she needed in Hogsmeade, too, she had decided to pay her home of seven years a visit - with the intention on going up to Hogwarts, too.  
  
Books were on the very top of her list, so she decided to go to Quills and Quartos first. It was a charming little shop with a great selection of fiction and non-fiction books and magical stationery. She touched her purse in yet another pocket of her robes to make sure she had brought enough money. Usually, she made visits to bookshops a daytrip, spending more money than she'd intended - no matter if it was a wizarding shop or a Muggle shop. A wistful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  
  
Two hours later, she left the cool, dusty dimness of Quills and Quartos with a stack of books under her arm - more, of course, than she had planned on buying. Hermione blinked into the bright sunlight and took a deep breath. When her eyes had adapted to the much brighter light, she glanced up and down the road.  
  
From the corner of her eye she saw a figure clad in black entering the small cemetery. When she turned to look at the person, a rush of adrenaline shot through her, pooling in her stomach in a not entirely uncomfortable feeling. She only knew one person to wear black, even on a cheery summer's day like this. It could only be Professor Severus Snape, her former Potions Master.  
  
Before she knew what was happening, she was walking towards the cemetery and leaned against the iron fence. The billowing robes were Snape's, and as he turned into her direction and stopped in front of a red marble stele there was no doubt it was him. As far as she could tell from a distance he hadn't changed very much in the past three years. His skin was as pale as ever, his dark eyes as sharp as his aquiline nose. The sun caught in his ebony hair, and for the first time Hermione wondered if what she had always deemed grease wasn't just a very natural shiny quality. Where sun met hair it shone bluish. Beautiful.  
  
A true Winter Creature.  
  
Hermione was shocked by her own thoughts. Since when did she think about Snape in this way?  
  
Snape must have lost some weight, she thought, as he bent to exchange the flowers at the foot of the stele. The orange lilies he brought were fresh, some buds not even open yet, and he threw away the wilted ones. Hermione wondered whose honour and memory he was keeping by that loving gesture. Flowers and Snape didn't go together, except when it came to brewing potions. She couldn't really see his face from where she was standing or she might have been able to divine an answer from his expression.  
  
"What are you doing?" she scolded herself in a mutter. She shook her head and turned away from the fence. There was a stone bench nearby. She put down her shopping and checked her list once more. She had almost forgotten Snape when a soft, very familiar screeching caught her attention. Quickly she searched the skies, protecting her eyes with her hand. A dark dot was drawing near, growing bigger as it spiralled towards her. A second later, Perrine, her faithful silver owl sat on her shoulder, nibbling at her ear affectionately. Crookshanks had been killed in a car accident the previous summer. It had been Harry who had given her Perrine. A very sweet gesture that wasn't any real comfort, yet touched something deep within Hermione.  
  
Hermione accepted the proffered letter. Who would be contacting her now? Again, that familiar rush of adrenaline.  
  
Dear Ms Granger,  
  
I got word of your presence in Hogsmeade. I would be delighted to have you over at Hogwarts for tea, your plans and time permitting, of course.  
  
Minerva McGonagall  
  
"Now that's a surprise," Hermione smiled. It seemed to be a teacher's second nature always to know what was going on, and where everyone was. She found a quill in the amazing depths of her robes, and scribbled a positive reply underneath her former teacher's neat handwriting. Then she sent Perrine on her way again, telling her to stay at the school's Owlery.  
  
She stood, collected her shopping and threw a last glance over her shoulder to the red stele, but Snape was gone. Hermione didn't know why, but all of a sudden she was glad the stern, sometimes sinister Potions Master had left her summer day. She still remembered his classes all too well, and not all memories were pleasant ones - actually, the unpleasant ones outweighed them by far.  
  
Again she wondered whose grave it was he had visited, but her good manners won over her curiosity. The lilies were very beautiful, their orange petals radiant as the sunlight fell on them, shining like little suns themselves.  
  
"No one you know."  
  
The familiar voice made her jump, its velvet slightly crumpled in a not-quite whisper. Hermione whirled around and found herself face to face with the Winter Creature. He wasn't that much taller than her, yet she got the indistinct feeling that Snape was towering over her, ready to dive and kill at the next best opportunity. The twinkle in his eyes betrayed his intimidating impression, though. Did she see some kind of mischief in those dark depths of his?  
  
"Ms Granger," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. Hermione suddenly remembered her first year at Hogwarts. She had saved Harry's and Ron's necks by claiming she had wanted to take out Quirrell's mountain troll all by herself. There had been something in Snape's eyes then, amazement at her straight-faced lie, surprise even. All in all not unkind reactions.  
  
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape." Hermione had recovered very quickly from her surprise. There was the odd new line in his face, but other than that he didn't seem to have changed much.  
  
Of all people, it was Hermione Granger he hadn't expected to turn up here. He couldn't quite get rid of the feeling that she was sneaking after him - but then again why would she? She had certainly already received Minerva's invitation and come up early to run some errands. Severus looked at her. Had Granger looked that good as a student, too? He only remembered her a bright, never a pretty student. And he was surprised that she would meet his eyes now, with a warm chocolate gaze. Her flyaway hair was held together in a loose bun, and some ringlets of the hazel mass escaped from the clips and pins.  
  
"Well, I'm -" Hermione continued, and could only stop herself before saying, sorry it's someone dear to you. That would have certainly meant overstepping the line. You never knew with Snape.  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow at this. After all these years, Hermione still wasn't sure if he could read minds after all. "I guess I will see you at the castle, then," he said for lack of anything better.   
  
"Yes." Hermione's relief didn't appear subtle enough. "See you there."  
  
Severus nodded crisply and turned swiftly on his heel, leaving a confused Hermione in the wake of his billowing robes.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione was sitting in one of Minerva McGonagall's deep, cosy armchairs, a cup of delicate china in hand. The Winter Creature was there, too, settled in another chair, balancing a teacup on his armrest. McGonagall occupied the third armchair opposite the fireplace. The smile on her face smoothed out some of the harsher lines, and for a moment Hermione recovered enough to find that McGonagall must once have been an exceptionally beautiful woman.  
  
"You don't have to decide right away. School doesn't start for another four weeks," Minerva said, exchanging gazes with Snape. He nodded, his expression perfectly neutral. "The Headmaster would have preferred to ask you himself, but pressing business has him on a conference in Munich. If you'd rather -"  
  
"No," Hermione smiled a little self-consciously. "No, that's fine, really. I'm just a little surprised, that's all. Are you sure you want me for the job?"  
  
Both professors nodded. Suppressing a smile, Hermione remembered Snape's aspirations for the position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and how he had never got the job. Having been vindicated, Harry's godfather Sirius Black had accepted the job in their seventh year - after yet two more sets of teachers. It was no secret that Snape and Sirius still didn't get on very well, but at least they were on speaking terms. Dumbledore had felt that Snape was better off where he was, a spy for the ministry and Potions Master at Hogwarts.  
  
"Professor Vector herself suggested you. And we can only second her wish," Minerva offered.  
  
"When do you need my answer?"  
  
"In about two weeks, if that's convenient for you," the Deputy Headmistress said.  
  
~*~  
  
"That's wonderful, Hermione!" Mrs Granger exclaimed. Hermione went to see her parents on a regular basis, and had told her mother about the job offer at Hogwarts.  
  
"I'm just not sure I want the job," Hermione answered weakly, unsure whether her mother would buy her reluctance. In truth, her decision had long been made, all she needed now was reassurance. In a way.  
  
Her mother nodded, bless her. Mrs Granger knew of course what her daughter needed to hear. If she could, she always supported her. Since she couldn't find any fault with working as a teacher at Hogwarts she was sure that her daughter would walk away very relieved tonight. "Tell me, what keeps you?"  
  
Hermione almost blushed as she mumbled the Potions Master's name. He was going to be a colleague, not her teacher. Arithmancy and Potions didn't have to do anything with each other so there was no danger of them clashing. She'd probably be able to avoid him most of the time anyway. And Vector's place at the High Table was to Dumbledore's left - Snape's seat was on the far right.   
  
"Is he really that mean? I mean, he's a human being after all."  
  
Hermione had the nagging feeling that there was more to the offer than the obvious position, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Unbidden, Snape returned to her thoughts.  
  
Hermione snorted and helped herself to another of her mother's sugar-free biscuits. "He's the Winter Creature, he hates Sirius."  
  
"Ah." Being close to Harry Potter, and thus to Sirius, could be a problem, but really it sounded childish.  
  
"I know," Hermione replied. "Still."  
  
"There, there. What was the Winter Creature bit?"  
  
She finished her biscuit before she replied, buying time to find the right words. It was a personal nick name for Snape, one she'd never shared with anyone else. It was hard to explain. "Well, he seems cold, very pale and dark. Like a winter's day. When I met him in Hogsmeade the other day, and he put down those flowers he seemed so out of place. It was such a warm day, and Snape was ... as though a bit of winter had returned." She paused, meeting her mother's furrowed brow. "I'm not making any sense, am I?" She asked, her voice squeaky. She dropped her head on her folded arms.  
  
Mrs Granger didn't know what to say. The Winter Creature didn't sound all that bad, a little bit affectionate even. "Well, winter days can be beautiful, too, can't they?" She got up and put the kettle on for another cup of tea.  
  
She didn't see Hermione raise her head and look at her with a mixture of disbelief and embarrassment written on her face. "We're talking about Snape here!"  
  
Her mother threw a teabag into her mug. "The teacher or the ... colleague?" She turned around and met her daughter's chocolate eyes in a meaningful gaze. "Of course you're going to teach. It's a wonderful opportunity for you. And I would be very much mistaken if my daughter would let the Winter Creature get in her way. Never stopped you back at school, did he?"  
  
- 


	2. Ebony and Ivory

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Two  
  
Ebony and Ivory  
  
Severus was standing at his window, gazing out over the Hogwarts grounds. The sun had set a couple of ... was it minutes or hours ago? He couldn't remember. A pale pink ribbon hemmed the sharp black outline of the Forbidden Forest and the curves of the hills behind it. Suddenly overcome with a fascination for colours such as he hadn't had in a good two decades, he delved into the colourful display of this late summer evening's skies. The pale pink faded into turquoise and lilac before surrendering to the inky blue-black of the night-sky. Mars was out already, along with some of the brighter twinkling stars.  
  
So it had begun. The letter with Ms Granger's reply lay on the windowsill, open, her neat handwriting accepting the position as Arithmancy teacher, limited to one academic year. Severus drew a deep breath. He wasn't comfortable with this at all. Hogwarts was probably the safest place to live in times like these, but it could also be very dangerous. However, he saw that Dumbledore didn't want a brilliant mind like hers kept occupied with books at some university when he - they - needed the best at Hogwarts.  
  
Arithmancy. He sneered. That subject was little better than Divination, yet acceptable for its scientific methods and approach. Severus was of the opinion that Granger had better study Potions only. He would have been a fool, however, hadn't he seen the advantage of her choice. She had always been a brilliant student, one of the best he had ever had the pleasure of teaching.  
  
Severus flattened the letter with his left palm. The piece of writing nearly disappeared beneath his hand. He sighed. For once he hadn't agreed with Dumbledore. It wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but this time was different. Whereas Dumbledore had insisted on not telling Granger, he had deemed it better that they do. This was a very important matter; a decision on which many things depended, lives even.  
  
"We need an Arithmancy teacher anyway," Dumbledore had said. "I will speak to Ms Granger about it when the time is right. It is her choice."  
  
"But wouldn't it be likely, Headmaster," Snape pointed out, "that she would consent out of a sense of obligation?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at him from above the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Not any more or less than if we asked her now. There's no need to worry her just yet."  
  
Snape put his empty teacup back on the headmaster's desk. "I trust you to tell her that it is her decision?"  
  
The old man smiled. "And hers alone. There wouldn't be any hard feelings towards her if she rejected."  
  
"You seem fairly certain of her."  
  
"She's Gryffindor, Severus."  
  
Yes, Severus thought, that she certainly is. He just hoped that the famous Gryffindor bravery included working with him. He raised his hand and looked at her letter again. The fading light filtering in through the old mullioned windows was bright on the parchment, making the black ink stand out on the pale surface. As if to make Granger's decision firmer.  
  
Eventually, he sighed.  
  
Then he retreated into the darkness of his study, where the splayed rectangle of fading daylight wouldn't reach him. Where he could prepare himself for what was to come that night.  
  
~*~  
  
Something in Lucius Malfoy's voice wasn't right as he welcomed the new arrival. It was something akin to apprehension, that odd mixture of excitement and dread. It was something that told the hooded and masked man that this apprehension had something to do with him ... in particular. He knew that kind of sparkle in Malfoy's icy grey eyes, and wasn't quite sure if he could control the expression in his eyes better than him.  
  
Severus shuddered under his robes. The disused oilrig was irony itself; of all places to meet an artificial Muggle island it had to be. An icy breeze had his robes flutter and clap, tearing unrelenting at the garment, whipping up the spray from the white-capped sea to make the fabric damp. Yet the smell of oil lingered in the air. Severus wrinkled his nose under the cover of his mask.  
  
He was being led up and down and around the decks of the oilrig by a Death Eater whose eyes he didn't know. Since he had no clue about the topography of such an edifice there was no point in trying to remember his way. This maze was hopeless, lit by water and storm-proof torches. His breath condensed the inside of his mask, plastering his skin to its blackened silver. Something trickled down his temple, the side of his face and down his neck until his shirt collar soaked it up.  
  
Eventually, they stepped on an elevated platform that was in fact the highest point of the structure. It looked like a landing place for one of those impossible Muggle flying apparatuses - helicopters by name, if he remembered that correctly. The deck was covered in bird-droppings under which it sported a huge, yellow letter H in a wide circle. The deck had been bewitched, of course. As soon as Severus set foot on it the roar of the wind died down and his robes moved only when he did.  
  
The torches flickered gently, revealing a circle of familiar and unfamiliar eyes looking expectantly at him. Malfoy, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, pushed him into the centre of the circle.  
  
"Severus."  
  
The high-pitched voice sent icicles down Snape's very straight spine. It was Voldemort's shadow that was moving out of the blackness towards him. Another rivulet of sweat trickled down Severus' ashen face. He felt sick to his stomach.  
  
"My Lord." He bowed deeply.  
  
A jerk of the Dark Lord's hand ripped his hood off and dissolved the mask from his face. It clattered on the tarmac and came to rest face up. The icy breeze that brushed Severus' face was imaginary, he knew that. He also knew - just like everyone of the assembled - what the unmasking meant. Malfoy's eyes flashed up again in his memory.  
  
"I have been waiting for word from you, Severus." Voldemort's voice was deceptively calm and soft. He didn't move.  
  
From the corner of his eye, Severus saw his mask glittering in the firelight. The skin of his face was burning from the forceful unmasking. "We ... I only learned of her decision today, Master," he said.  
  
"I do not think so, Severus."  
  
A pause.  
  
The roaring of his blood in his veins reverberated in every single atom of his being, but Severus managed to keep his breathing calm.  
  
"The next time I have to learn news like this," Voldemort was referring to Granger's position as a professor at Hogwarts, no doubt, "I want to know when the plan for it is first conceived."  
  
Severus had to steady himself, ever so imperceptible for the circle of Death Eaters. He felt trapped, his mind batting its wings in the immense web that was Voldemort as it tried to pull free, to soar up high to where clear thinking had reatreated.  
  
Voldemort looked at him with piercing scarlet eyes. Severus tried to meet them, alert not to show too much cheek, yet intent on not showing his fear either. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down between his shoulder blades, plastering his shirt to his clammy skin underneath his robe and frock coat.  
  
"As you wish," he murmured demurely.  
  
"Good." Voldemort nodded, then turned away.  
  
Severus knew this wasn't over yet. He had been in this kind of circle too often, on both ends, as though he could let himself be lured into a false sense of security. The gesture was ever so subtle, but there was no mistaking it. Voldemort lifted his right hand a few inches from his side, and almost instantly, Severus' arms were seized, and he was forced to his knees. A third Death Eater, familiar excitement sparkling grey daggers at him, ripped the buttons open that ran the length from his cuff up to his elbow.  
  
Malfoy pushed Severus' shirtsleeve up and bared the Dark Mark. It stood out brilliantly against the milky skin. Severus clenched his left fist. His arm was being held in an iron grip.  
  
"Nagini."  
  
A massive snake slithered out of the dark, and her eyes gleamed like the embers in red-hot coals. Nagini raised herself and stared at him.  
  
"Her venom, Severus, is ... very potent," Voldemort began, but he didn't turn around. "You have the honour, despite your blunder, to be the first to try it." Another gesture of his hand told Nagini to close in on her victim. "Wonderful, isn't it, how she kept me alive ..."  
  
Severus made an effort to calm his breathing without losing his dignity. Malfoy's hands were like cold iron around his arm, as were the two other pairs of upper extremities - Crabbe's and Goyle's, most likely - holding him down. He set his jaw to steel himself.  
  
"Once in your blood, it will carry you to wherever you want, Severus," the Dark Lord continued, "if you manage to think clearly." He nodded.  
  
It was Nagini's cue. She slithered closer and closer, silently, without hissing, just burning her coal-eyes into his. She raised herself even higher; her muscles were strong enough to support her to meet the tall Potions Master - even when on his knees - eye to eye. Severus didn't bat an eyelid. He mustn't. He had to think clearly to get away from this. He had to trust Voldemort that much.  
  
The massive jaws of the serpent opened, and yellowish fangs glistened in the torchlight. And suddenly he knew.  
  
Then, Nagini pounced and buried her fangs deeply into his bared arm, where the Dark Mark stood out starkly. The excruciating pain he had expected was absent; it wasn't any different from a dog's bite. Severus clenched his jaws tightly, so as not to let the pain fog his mind for a single instant. He could feel the venom flowing into his body, mingling with his blood. It was cool, and seemed to be runny. He raised his head to look at Voldemort's back.  
  
He met with his eyes, and the tip of the Dark Wizard's wand trained on him.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
~*~  
  
A black dog detached itself from the darkness made up out of bushes, gravestones and steles and headed right for the place where apparently unconscious man had appeared literally out of thin air. The gravel crunched crisply in the cooling summer night as the animal hastened across the moonlit park. As it reached the man it picked up the smell of venom before it morphed into a shadow. The man emerging from the morphed shadow swept down to the unconscious man and bent over him in an almost protective way.  
  
He touched the man's shoulder and was rewarded with a groan. The man rolled over on his back. It was Severus Snape indeed. His blood shone almost black in the silvery moonlight, his face a ghastly pallor that looked very unhealthy even for Snape's standards. Snape clutched his left arm tightly to his body, trying to protect it.  
  
"Snape!" Black supported the Potions Master's head, trying to get him to focus on him. "Severus!"  
  
But Severus had been standing the Cruciatus curse and Nagini's venom longer than humanly possible. He surrendered to oblivion with a smile on his bloodied lips.  
  
- 


	3. Tenebrae

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Three  
  
Tenebrae  
  
It had been a while since Hermione had travelled by Floo powder last, so when she stepped from the fire in Madam Pomfrey's hearth she felt dizzy and somewhat disorientated. She steadied herself on the column supporting the massive mantelpiece, and took a few deep breaths to collect herself. When she looked up, Hermione met with Madam Pomfrey's worried face. It only registered with Hermione then how dire the situation must be. Graduated from St Mungo's, the witch was in charge of Hogwarts' hospital wing. There was hardly anything she couldn't cure or remedy. So if she had decided that they ask her, Hermione, for help ...  
  
"I wish we met in more pleasant circumstances, Ms Granger," Madam "Poppy" Pomfrey welcomed her. "But I'm afraid we'll have to postpone any niceties until later."  
  
Adrenaline rushed back into Hermione's body, just like it had when she had first got word of the situation. She nodded. "Is it that bad?"  
  
"I am afraid so. Black tells me Severus had a meeting with the Death Eaters. When he found him there was a strange smell about him," Poppy told her.  
  
"Poison?"  
  
"None I've ever encountered, though," Poppy sighed. "We used the Pensieve so you can get an idea of it. Severus regained consciousness briefly, and it was him who asked for you."  
  
Hermione froze. That was high praise coming from the Potions Master. He must really trust her and her abilities. But she was only a student ... Her heart was beating rapidly. So it all depended on her now. Snape trusted her to find a cure for him, a cure for an unknown poison. How was she supposed to find it if even Poppy didn't have the tiniest inkling? She felt sick to her stomach.  
  
Poppy, in the meantime, had put her Pensieve on the desk. Hermione stepped closer and watched the swirling silvery, opaque liquid in the stone bowl. Harry had once told her that gazing into a Pensieve felt like wind gone solid. The Healer prodded the swirling liquid gently with her wand, and colourless smoke rose from the bowl. The opaque liquid had gone translucent, and in its depths appeared the image of Snape lying curled up on the ground, clutching his left arm. It was bared and his blood shone blackly in the moonlight. There was blood on his lips, too.  
  
"Can you smell it?" Madam Pomfrey asked.  
  
Hermione nodded absent-mindedly. It was a strange mixture of ... magnolias and ginger with a sharp peppery touch to it. Never before had she smelled anything like it. She closed her eyes and concentrated hard to memorise the scent.  
  
"I reckon it's serpent venom. Come." Before they left, Madam Pomfrey prodded the translucent liquid back into opaqueness.  
  
Hermione followed her into a small room that was reserved for teachers. She shuddered when she saw the Winter Creature. He lay very still, his breathing shallow. From the bluish hue of his skin it was obvious that Madam Pomfrey had used the Algeo Corporem Charm - she had had to freeze Snape to stop the effect of the venom. A small victory against the unknown.  
  
The ghost of a smile on his lips disturbed Hermione most. She had never seen the man smile. It changed him completely. The harshness had disappeared from his face, and she was sure that even his cold black eyes were less forbidding had he been conscious.  
  
She felt Poppy's hand on the small of her back. The older witch smiled, too, in understanding. Then she lifted Snape's left, heavily splinted and bandaged forearm. Hermione watched her remove the dressing. Eventually, the Dark Mark appeared, and Hermione couldn't help gasping. She had seen it before, of course, but it was a very disturbing sight nonetheless. It was a skull from the mouth of which a snake slithered. Its colour was indescribable in its darkness as it stood out against the bluish hue of the Potions Master's skin.  
  
But she quickly regained her composure and examined the bite mark underneath the magic tattoo. It was certainly a serpent's; she had seen many snake bites before. Examining bite marks was a standard procedure in procuring the right antidote. Madam Pomfrey gestured for her to take Snape's arm to get a closer look. She had to be very careful lest she damage the frozen limb.  
  
"Nagini?" she murmured. Forgetting whose arm she was holding, she drew her fingertips over the wound. Poppy had sealed the wound already with the Salutifer Chant, but the bite marks were still clearly visible. It must be a huge serpent - and if Snape had had a meeting with the Death Eaters there was little doubt that - Hermione gasped, "Great Merlin."  
  
"It's him."  
  
He Who Must Not Be Named was back. It must be his snake, Nagini, who had inflicted the wound. She exchanged gazes with Poppy. "He must have tampered with Nagini's venom."  
  
Poppy nodded. From what intelligence they had about him and Nagini, there shouldn't be any problem finding a cure. But the strange scent of the venom was proof enough that he must have tampered with it - for normally, venom from Nagini's kind of serpent was odourless.  
  
"Great Merlin," Hermione repeated. She traced the bite mark yet again, lost in thought. The skin was very soft to her touch, but cool, as she always imagined Snape to be. Eventually, she carefully put his arm down to rest on his stomach.  
  
Poppy sighed. "Didn't stop him from using the Cruciatus Curse too. Just to make sure I guess. I have no idea if the curse affected the venom in any way."  
  
Hermione had gone pale in the past few minutes, but she was positively blanching when she heard that. "Good God," she lapsed into her childhood mannerisms. "Is there anything else I should know?"  
  
Poppy shook her head.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione sat back on the cold, tiled floor of her bathroom. She pulled the flushing lever, then wiped her mouth. The bitter taste of bile felt like the new burden on her shoulders. Not once in her life had she been aware of what it really meant that a life depended on her. Now it threatened to crush her. There must be someone else, someone equal to Snape's learning. Yet it was her he had asked for. He trusted her, for whatever reason.  
  
So why couldn't she trust herself then?  
  
She rose and rinsed her mouth, but when it didn't help, Hermione brushed her teeth. It was an activity that had never failed her in collecting her thoughts. She was now in her own rooms, which the house-elves had quickly prepared for her early arrival. Her mother had sent a bag with clothes and toiletries to last for a couple of days, but she was sure she'd have to send for the rest of her belongings once Snape was out of danger.  
  
Hermione paused, biting on her toothbrush as the peppermint foam dribbled down her chin. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. There was something about Nagini that wouldn't leave her alone. She had it on the tip of her tongue.  
  
"There, there, love," the mirror said. It was a pleasant male voice.  
  
Hermione looked up, startled.  
  
The mirror chuckled softly. "Oh dear. That bad?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Hm." The mirror went silent. It obviously had a sense of tact for a change. In her last year she'd had a female mirror which she would have loved to shatter at times. Nosy little thing, always carping about everything. Hermione had used Parvati's mirror whenever possible.  
  
Slowly, she continued brushing her teeth. More foam dribbled down her chin and into the washbasin.  
  
White.  
  
Pure.  
  
Like snow.  
  
Like fair-weather clouds.  
  
Like magnolia.  
  
Like ...  
  
Milk.  
  
~*~  
  
"Albus?" Minerva McGonagall's fingers were tightly entwined with each other as she turned away from his fireplace to meet his gaze. The Headmaster of Hogwarts looked very worried, a notion that wasn't very comforting. When he was worried, people around him usually were past being scared to death.  
  
Albus Dumbledore handed her a cup of tea. She hadn't noticed him bringing a tray up into the circular office. "Ms Granger has arrived. I will go to her now to let her into Severus' office. She might want to consult one of his books, or need something from his laboratory."  
  
Minerva sipped at the very strong and very sweet tea. It was long past midnight and the events prior this evening had her out of bed. She sat heavily in one of her friend's armchairs and pulled her tartan robe tighter around herself. "How is Severus?" She asked almost tunelessly. Inwardly, she thanked Albus for being so calm; it rubbed off positively on her.  
  
"Poppy has had to perform the Algeo Corporem Charm to stop the venom from spreading faster," he took a sip from his own cup. "As far as I know, Ms Granger and she already have an idea of what kind of venom they're dealing with."  
  
"Has she talked to Sirius?"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "The Pensieve."  
  
The Transfigurations teacher contented herself with that answer. Suddenly, she stood. "We shouldn't have got her into this, Albus."  
  
"Ah, dear Minerva," Dumbledore shook his head and took a step towards her. "She has been involved in this ever since she first set foot in Hogwarts."  
  
Seeing that Albus was right, Minerva sat again, on the very edge of the deep armchair. "Isn't there anyone else?" She looked at him doubtingly from behind her square spectacles.  
  
"Severus has asked for her, Minerva, and you know I trust him."  
  
Minerva sighed. "How long until Poppy has to defrost him?"  
  
"Forty hours, at most. That is why I have to go to Ms Granger immediately. If you'll excuse me, I'll be back in no time." Dumbledore touched her shoulder reassuringly, then swept soundlessly out of his office. The Transfigurations teacher was alone. The former Headmasters and Headmistresses, Dilys Derwent among them, were snoozing undisturbed in their paintings. She took another sip of her tea.  
  
And another, until she only saw the yellowed bottom of the dainty china cup.  
  
"Dear, dear," she sighed.  
  
~*~  
  
When Hermione entered Snape's bedroom for the second time that night she was as amazed about the peaceful expression on his features as she had been the first time. The room lay in darkness, only moonlight was filtering in through the old mullioned window, casting an elongated rectangle of silver on the polished wooden floor and the bed. Madam Pomfrey had splinted and dressed his arm again.  
  
Hermione stood in the door. Although she had come to him - for whatever reason - she didn't dare disturb the quiet he obviously loved so much. What she had come for, she couldn't even begin to fathom. Answers usually didn't come when she confronted the problem head-on; it was rather inspiration that struck, as it had earlier while brushing her teeth.  
  
"The venom smells of magnolia and ginger, Professor," she whispered. Sometimes, thinking aloud helped. "And there is definitely a touch of pepper in it, too."  
  
She fell silent again.  
  
"Curses do not affect potions or poisons once they've been administered, do they." It wasn't a question.  
  
Hermione took a step closer to the professor. His eyes were closed, and thanks to the pale moonlight, the bluish hue in his skin wasn't as obvious anymore. She had never seen him this open before, so utterly defenceless. The ghost of a smile on his lips, slightly apart, made him look as if in a pleasant dream. Hardly imaginable that a man like Snape dreamed ... but then again, she didn't know the man, did she? As a professor, he had always been cold and forbidding, inspiring fear if not respect. Always intent on hurting people - or at least pretending to do so. He had probably treated them the way he had to protect them. Hadn't he saved Harry's life? Taken care, by way of threatening detentions and reduction of their house points, that they didn't stray and get themselves into trouble?  
  
"I hope it wasn't too painful," she said.  
  
The memory of Snape putting down orange lilies at the stele came back to her. Whomever he had given the flowers must have been very special to him.  
  
Suddenly, she found herself beside his bed, fingertips gently grazing the thick, white bandage of his injured left forearm, fascinated by the way his raven tresses spread on the white pillow, cushioned by dark blue shadows. He truly was a Winter Creature.  
  
"Do tell me, Professor," she whispered, "about Nagini's milk."  
  
Snape didn't so much as move the tiniest facial muscle.  
  
"It's what kept He Who Must Not Be Named alive," Hermione said softly, gazing out of the window into the dark Hogwarts grounds. "Milk is pure. Venom isn't really, in its effect, I mean. We do have serum to counteract her venom, but it has been tampered with - it smells. What is its effect?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Then, suddenly, something black leapt out of the shadows onto the bed with feline grace. Hermione jumped, and chided herself because she should have recognised the leaping blackness for what it was: a cat. The black cat with a single white sock curled itself up on Snape's lap and scrutinised Hermione with a pair of intensely green-glowing eyes. Hermione held out her hand to the cat, and as it didn't move Hermione touched the cat's soft, blue-black fur.  
  
She was rewarded with a low purr.  
  
"Are you the professor's familiar, hm?"  
  
The cat pushed its head into Hermione's caressing palm.  
  
"So, what ..." She got back to pondering her problem.  
  
A pause. Her hand dropped away from the cat's inky fur.  
  
"He hasn't!?" She met the cat's bright emerald eyes. The cat stood her gaze easily, but there was a spark in her eyes that told Hermione she was on the right track.  
  
"I'll be back, Professor Snape."  
  
She whirled around and ran into Professor Dumbledore.  
  
- 


	4. Dawn

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Four  
  
Dawn  
  
"Snape won't be very happy about this," Hermione muttered under her breath as Dumbledore drew his wand and unlocked the door to the Potions Master's office with a charm.  
  
"He trusts you, Ms Granger," he said, turning around to meet her.  
  
Hogwarts' youngest professor sighed. "I just hope I won't disappoint him." She entered the dungeon she remembered so well from her time as a student. The classroom hadn't changed at all, except for the odd pickled potions ingredient added to the floor-to-ceiling shelves. The last of this night's moonlight was filtering in through the circular window, casting strange shadows in Snape's realm. Books were still piled more or less tidily along the walls behind his desk.   
  
The room exuded the solemn air of learning and failure, and memories rushed back quickly into her conscience. Even during the summer holidays, the smell was the same, a mixture of fires gone cold and the various ingredients,. She smiled.  
  
"Illumino," Hermione flicked her wand, and the torches in the wall sconces flared up. She couldn't really believe how much the atmosphere changed once the place was lit. She turned around to the Headmaster, who smiled benignly at her. "Do you have a minute, Professor?" she asked.  
  
He produced his pocket-watch from an inside pocket of his ochre and black robe and looked at it. It had no numbers but twelve hands, and little planets were moving in the hands' periphery. Hermione recognised it for what it was: an Arithmancer's watch, and a particularly fine specimen, too. Only the most advanced of wizards were able to consult with a watch like this - her respect for Dumbledore increased when she noticed how quickly he divined what he needed to know.  
  
"Yes, as a matter of fact, dear Minerva has just fallen asleep in my office. Poor woman. Whole thing affected her worse than I thought," he said, softly, more to himself than to Hermione.  
  
She smiled self-consciously at him. "If you give me a minute, I'll look something up in Professor Snape's private library ..."  
  
"Go ahead, dear," Albus nodded at her. "I will get you some refreshments in the meantime. You must be starved and parched as it is. My apologies for that."  
  
But Hermione was already in Snape's office. She had never really been there, even with her little pilfering excursion in her second year taken into account. If the classroom was weird, Snape's office was an entirely different world altogether. His desk was cluttered with various rolls of parchment and quills, books, candles, samples of ingredients floating in their sickly-coloured preserving solutions. A pair of scales was shining in the pale light, and an analytical balance sat right next to it. Two armchairs were standing in front of the fireplace, whose hearth was filled with books rather than a warming fire. More jars and vials with revolting contents lined one wall of the room, the other one was entirely taken up by a massive bookcase.  
  
"Illumino," she said again, and the candles flickered into life, some of them floating suspended in mid-air to follow her around. But the candles weren't the only things to come to life. She hadn't noticed the two braziers in the room until they, too, flared up and almost instantly warmed the place. So the Winter Creature did have a need for a cheery fire's warmth, after all.  
  
Hermione stepped up in front of the bookcase, and forgot quite quickly about the qualms she'd had about using any of Snape's things. This was ludicrous; why would Snape want her to help him and at the same time deny her the use of his study? She quickly scanned the titles on the backs of the neatly ordered books. Some of the volumes were very old, and it was hard to make out the titles on the old leather, even with the candles floating around her. Others were the latest publications on potions and poisons and the like. It registered with the back of her consciousness that the Professor's library was multilingual, containing the best of the best of their countries.  
  
It was only with considerable effort that she could tear her inquisitive mind away from the treasures of Snape's collection and focus instead on finding what she was looking for. Which happened rather quickly. "I've got it!" she cried triumphantly in the direction of the classroom. She pulled the book from its shelf and carried it into the brightly lit classroom. Dumbledore was still there, and he had arranged for a tray laden with food and drink to be brought. He was munching on a scone when Hermione returned from the study, and waved eagerly for her to join his little past-midnight feast.  
  
But Hermione didn't feel like eating anything at all. Only a little while ago she had retched into her toilet, and the tense knot in her stomach hadn't disappeared yet. "I have the strange feeling, Professor," and she allowed him to hand her a cup with scalding tea, "that Vol - You-Know-Who - has mixed Nagini's venom with her milk."  
  
Dumbledore nodded absent-mindedly as he picked a few crumbs from his silvery beard.   
  
"It would certainly be a reason for the venom's strange smell," Hermione continued, as oblivious of the old wizard's presence as he seemed to be of hers. She opened the book she had brought, and studied its table of contents.  
  
"The effect of this mixture, what would it be?" Hermione sipped her tea. Then she grabbed a parchment and quill from the supplies cupboard to write her musings down. "Hm ..." she muttered as she quickly but neatly filled the parchment with row upon row of numbers and letters and calculations.  
  
"Arithmancy," Dumbledore nodded appreciatively. "Care for a chocolate frog?"  
  
Hermione smiled, never tearing her eyes from the parchment. She was close, so close ... if only she had a slide-rule. "Accio slide-rule," she said, waving her wand, and feeling rather foolish, for Snape had told them in their very first lesson what exactly he thought of the use of wands. Which was completely ludicrous, though, for he himself used a wand, too. Hermione shook her head.  
  
The slide-rule she had summoned zoomed towards her and, with a soft clatter, landed on the desk beside her. She quickly did some calculations. Snape wouldn't approve of her using Arithmancy to procure an antidote. It was a very new approach that had yet to be recognised, but at the moment Hermione couldn't care any less. If he wanted her to do the job he had to accept her ways of doing this.  
  
She scribbled the result of her calculations on the very bottom of the parchment. And blanched.  
  
"What is it, dear?" Dumbledore looked at her in concern, his blue eyes wrinkled by lack of sleep and deep concern for his friend.  
  
"I was right," Hermione softly said. "You Know Who mixed venom and milk, hence the strange smell."  
  
Albus lifted an inquisitive silver eyebrow at her. "You can tell without actually mixing the liquids. Impressive. Very impressive." He murmured, emptying his tea-cup. "And very dangerous, too." He gestured for her to continue.  
  
~*~  
  
"When mixed, the two liquids neutralise each other in a way," Hermione explained. They were back in Poppy's office. Her sixth or so cup of tea for that night sat on the book she'd brought from Snape's office, as she offered Minerva McGonagall the parchment with her calculations which she had just got back from Poppy. The Transfigurations teacher accepted the sheet and glanced at it briefly.  
  
"But we can't just give Severus the serum, can we?" Poppy wisely assumed.  
  
Snape's familiar appeared out of the shadows again and leapt on Hermione's lap, where it curled up and rested its head on its black and white paws. Very naturally, Hermione's hand dropped to stroke the cat. How she had missed that. Poor Crookshanks. There was nothing like the warmth of a cat weighing down on her lap, and its purring as she stroked it.  
  
"Well hello there, Tenebrae." Albus was positively talking to the cat. Minerva shot him a stern glance from behind her square spectacles. She had only woken from her uncomfortable slumber in his office when a house-elf had been sent for her.  
  
"Well, we can," Hermione said, considerably calmer now.  
  
"But?" Minerva was literally sitting on the edge of her seat.  
  
Sirius Black, who had been leaning against Poppy's desk, chimed in. "There is a side-effect." It was a remark rather than a question that drew everybody's attention on his person. "Severus didn't Apparate when I found him, he was far too weak for that."  
  
Hermione smiled at her friend's godfather and nodded. "This new venom has an agent with Floo powder quality in it, and which at once paralyses the victim."  
  
"It's as paradoxical as venom and milk - life-taking and life-giving," Poppy said.  
  
"Exactly," Hermione said. "As far as Poppy can tell, the venom hasn't spread that far in the professor's body when he arrived at the hospital wing, probably not beyond his elbow." Poppy nodded, confirming. Minerva looked more concerned by the minute, her brow furrowing ever deeper.  
  
The youngest of the assembled continued. "We can administer a new serum, but," she drew a deep breath, "Professor Snape will lose the use of his left hand and forearm. Temporarily," she hastily added when she heard Minerva's gasp. "I hope that together with Professor Snape and Poppy I will be able to devise an antidote for the paralysis."  
  
"Severus won't like it at all," Sirius commented, "but he doesn't have much of a choice, does he?"  
  
Minerva looked up hopefully.  
  
"The sooner I defrost him, the better," the Healer said, "and it's the best we can do at the moment. Finding a counteragent might take very long."  
  
"This isn't very uplifting," Minerva murmured. "But do what you'll have to do."  
  
Tenebrae purred comfortably into the quiet that ensued.  
  
- 


	5. Dusk

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Five  
  
Dusk  
  
The following evening, Severus Snape was out of bed. He was standing tall and straight as ever at the window when he heard the fall of light footsteps behind him. He had been watching the sunset's display of colours on the Western sky. When he turned around, Hermione Granger was standing in the door, in her teacher's robes already. She wore robes the colour of deep Barolo wine over a long grape-dyed skirt and matching top. Severus forced a neutral expression on his pallid features.  
  
He hadn't completely recovered from the combined forces of venom and curse yet. His knees still wobbly, he leaned against the wooden windowsill. "Ms Granger."  
  
Hermione remained where she was, wondering about what was to come. Snape didn't look any different in his flowing silver bathrobe than he did in his usual black robes, not even with his left arm in a sling. "You ought to be in bed, Professor."  
  
"So do you," Severus replied. "You've been working all night."  
  
And Hermione felt every bit of it. It was only now that she felt the terrible burden of last night's events lift from her narrow shoulders. Which she wouldn't admit, of course. She still dreaded Snape's reaction to his paralysis, but at least he was alive and ... sneering, wasn't he?  
  
Hermione bit her lip. She wasn't doing him justice. He wasn't sneering at all. Instead, he looked almost likeable, and was that a ghost of concern flitting across his face when he acknowledged her hard work?  
  
In the uncomfortable silence that spread its heavy cloak on them, Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Severus took a deep breath, steadying himself. He didn't know what to do. There was this stunningly beautiful, brilliant young woman who had just saved his life, and yet didn't seem to feel any different from one of his dunderhead students. She had saved his life, ready to accept the price she - or rather he - had to pay in doing so. Was he really that bad?  
  
"I-," he began, but took a breath to settle for the simplest way of saying it. "Thank you."  
  
Hermione blinked. "Pardon?" She was so startled that she completely forgot about being nonchalant in his presence, something that used to get her through confrontations with him back in her school days. "I failed you."  
  
Severus trailed the fingers of his good hand along the edge of the polished, wooden windowsill. "You saved my life, didn't you?"  
  
She stared at him in disbelief.  
  
"Are you going to come in or flee? If it's not the latter on your mind, you might as well have a seat," Severus offered, the slight amusement in his voice taking off the edge of his comment.  
  
As if under the Imperius curse, Hermione entered the room and sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. It was cold and black. Without further ado she drew her wand and with a graceful swishing motion had a relaxing fire crackling away in the hearth. She flashed him an almost apologetic smile.  
  
Severus nodded and sat in the other armchair, carefully cradling his injured arm. Then he merely sat and looked at her, then at the fire. The fire's golden glow danced in the dark orbs of his eyes, and if Hermione's mind didn't play any tricks on her, the nocturnal smile returned for the length of a blink. She wasn't sure she felt comfortable with this new Snape. At least the Snape she had known - or thought she'd known - had been predictable in his sneering and cynicism.  
  
"You did what you had to do," Severus eventually said. He looked at Hermione. "I will need help, of course."  
  
"Of course," she replied without thinking.  
  
"Ms Granger," he began again after a while, "I am not sure as to how far Professor Dumbledore has informed you. We have reason to believe you and several other people to be the target of Voldemort's next moves."  
  
Hermione used the time he allowed her to let that sink in. "That's why I'm here, in safety."  
  
"Relative safety, yes," Severus confirmed. "I hope you forgive us our ... cunning, but Professor Dumbledore felt it unnecessary to worry you yet. I, however, am of the opinion that you'd be better off if warned. Especially after what happened last night."  
  
She nodded. "Any particulars?"  
  
"I'm afraid Voldemort knew about your position here before I had the chance to tell him," he answered readily.  
  
"Hence the relative safety of Hogwarts," Hermione commented. It was strange that she should trust Snape, a former Death Eater turned spy, so much and so easily.  
  
Severus nodded. "We deem it best if you stayed here." It was neither a suggestion nor a question.   
  
Hermione met his dark eyes. Then she stood. "Thanks for telling me."  
  
Severus dismissed it with an almost impatient gesture of his good hand.  
  
Hermione had already turned to leave when she heard him say softly: "The pain was tolerable." She froze briefly to let him know she'd understood, but didn't turn back at him or acknowledge his last remark in any other way. Knowing him as she did, she could imagine what it had cost him to say that, and she wasn't going to jeopardise this new truce. Then she silently left the professor to his thoughts and the crackling of the fire.  
  
~*~  
  
"The pain was tolerable."  
  
The pain had been excruciating. Nagini's bite itself hadn't been that bad, but the venom, runny and cold in his veins, had soon burned him from the inside like molten wax. The Cruciatus curse had increased the pain thousand fold, fogging his mind in the attempt to make him lose his ability of clear thinking. But he had persevered, and the venom had transported him back to Nora's stele, where Black had found him. Had this been just another of the Dark Lord's tests, or was there more to it?  
  
Severus stroked his bandaged arm absentmindedly. Although the venom had been neutralised by the new serum, Poppy had insisted that his arm must not be moved for another day or two, just to make sure. As if it did matter, what with it being paralysed.  
  
Of course had he been furious to lose the use of his arm; he had expected Granger to succeed in curing him. But the venom had been more complicated to analyse than anticipated, and Granger had done exceedingly well under these circumstances; even with the help of Arithmancy. Severus was aware of the fact that anyone else would probably not have been able to come up with an antidote that quickly, and he'd be dead by now. He could only hope that Poppy and Granger were right about the paralysis in his arm, too, and that eventually they would find a way to remedy it.  
  
What had he been thinking, "The pain was tolerable"? As if she really cared.  
  
Hermione Granger had come to his room the previous night for nothing else but food for thought. She had examined his arm again and asked questions. At least that was how Severus remembered it. There wasn't much his subconscious could offer him on the events after he had collapsed in Hogsmeade's cemetery, but her presence was something he recalled. It was like a childhood memory, the image distant and foggy, only the associations and lingering feelings were there. Remnants of a dream.  
  
What if it had been a dream?   
  
Nonsense, Severus closed his eyes, his lids leaden after the exertion of getting up early. How could he remember her question so clearly if it hadn't been real? And she had understood his reply.  
  
Severus shook his head. Dumbledore had probably agreed with his decision to have Granger find the antidote, and that was why she had come. Severus had yet to talk to the Headmaster and explain to him what he had already told Granger - well, it was probably going to be a little bit more. There really wasn't any reason to worry her that much yet.  
  
A cat's all too familiar sound came from the door, and when he looked up, Tenebrae was sitting there, looking at him almost knowingly. "Tell me, Tenebrae, what is it about me?"  
  
Tenebrae stood, then crossed the room and made herself comfortable in his lap, her purr more of a reassurance for her master than a display of her own comfort.  
  
~*~  
  
Lulled to near-sleep by Severus' regular breathing, Tenebrae had been about to take a little nap herself, when, startled by the arrival of the physician witch, she leapt from her master's lap.  
  
"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey touched his shoulder. He had fallen asleep in his armchair, of course. She had told him that his little audience for Professor Granger would be too exhausting, but he wouldn't listen, of course. As if he ever had, she thought. "Severus!"  
  
"Hm," he looked at her from bleary eyes.  
  
"You'd better get to bed, it's going to be more comfortable than this chair," she said, a tad more gently now. People roused from deep sleep would do almost everything to go back to the realm of dreams, so the Potions Master let himself be lead to the bed. Poppy was able to unwrap him from his bathrobe just before he fell asleep again.  
  
Before Poppy left, she calmed the flames dancing in the fireplace a little. Tenebrae was still sitting in front of the hearth, watching her carefully from her green eyes.  
  
"Are you going to stay here?" Poppy whispered.  
  
For several seconds nothing happened. Then, as if on second thought, Severus' familiar stood and left, almost purposefully. Madam Pomfrey shook her head as she pulled the door to the teacher's room closed behind her. The cat was nowhere to be seen.  
  
- 


	6. It Begins

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Six  
  
It Begins  
  
Hermione snuggled down deeply in her bed. It was wonderful to wake up to birdsong and sunrays tickling her nose instead of a discreet house-elf's harrumphing. Her hand soon found the cat's soft fur, and Hermione sighed almost happily when she sunk her fingers into the silky hairs, stroking regularly, following her own heartbeat. She was rewarded with a deep guttural purr.  
  
It was the screeching of Perrine that brought Hermione back to the world of the waking for good. The night before had been warm and pleasant, given Hogwarts' geographical position, and so she had kept her bedroom window open. As her eyes fluttered open, she noticed her owl sitting on her perch, a letter tied to her leg.  
  
She immediately withdrew her hand from the warm fur. If Perrine was sitting on her perch, waiting more or less patiently, then the cat in her bed wasn't Crookshanks. When Hermione raised her head from her pillow, she saw a black cat lying curled up against her side.  
  
"Tenebrae."  
  
The cat started, looked at her almost reproachfully.  
  
Hermione propped herself up on her elbows. "What are you doing here, hm?"  
  
Tenebrae held the woman's gaze steadily for a while, then she stood, stretched and jumped off the four-poster in feline grace.  
  
"Didn't say you had to leave," Hermione murmured as she slumped back into her pillows. She yawned heartily, stretched. That's the brilliance of weekend mornings, Hermione thought, I get to sleep in and stay in bed as long as it takes me to get back to reality from my dreams.  
  
She rolled on her side and gazed out into the early morning outside the castle. Had Snape really and in all seriousness thanked her? Of course he has, she chided herself. He's not the ungrateful type, despite everything. It was something else that had startled her.  
  
"The pain was tolerable."  
  
That meant that he had known all along what had been going on around him, even though Poppy had had him frozen. Hermione blushed and pulled the sheet over her head. Then she giggled. That meant that he had of course realised her visits with him, her fingers on his arm ... which had been an entirely scientific gesture altogether. For all she knew he had been sleeping then. The question was ... why had he cared to answer? It was something she had said out of concern for a friend, something that had come almost from its own accord.  
  
Hermione pushed the sheets away; it was getting far too hot under them. The morning air was cool on her exposed skin; she wore a satin nightgown with spaghetti straps, a Muggle design she didn't want to do without.  
  
Snape had been very different, had been so even when she first met him again in Hogsmeade. Hermione once more reminded herself of the fact that she didn't know him as a man. While she hadn't always been convinced that he was putting on and maintaining a façade to guard what lay behind, she definitely felt now that this was exactly what the Winter Creature did. His sneering, mocking and cynicism were a protective wall.  
  
Of this she was convinced; or why would a poisoned and spell-tortured man be smiling in a cryogenic stasis? Or why would he so trustingly ask for her help? Or care about the fact that she cared?  
  
What was his familiar doing here, anyway? she thought as she gave Perrine a treat and a kiss. Forgotten was the letter she had untied from her faithful owl's leg and put on her bedside table lay forgotten when she made for her bathroom.  
  
~*~  
  
That afternoon, Severus was out of bed for good, against Madam Pomfrey's better advice, of course. His arm still in a sling, he sat in one of the deep winged armchairs in his friend's office and carefully balanced his cup and saucer on his now useless left forearm.  
  
"They knew about Granger, Albus," Severus said, never averting his gaze from the small fire. It was a wonderful summer's day, and the light and warmth flooding in through the high windows made a fire almost unnecessary.  
  
Albus Dumbledore, who sat facing the Potions teacher, nodded thoughtfully. The question to that statement didn't need voicing. It had been hovering in between them long enough. How come Voldemort knew?  
  
"I told her," Severus added after a while. "I told her she is in danger, and that we deem it best if she didn't return home until the first of September."  
  
Again, Albus nodded. "I had an owl from Mr Longbottom this morning. He moved into the Grangers' immediate neighbourhood."  
  
This time it was Severus who nodded. When he looked up to meet the Headmaster's gaze he noticed the grim determination etched into the older man's wrinkled skin. "What about the Aurors for Hogwarts?"  
  
"They will arrive shortly. Until then, Sirius and yourself can have an eye on her."  
  
Snape didn't so much as bat an eyelid at that comment. "The Ministry?"  
  
"Fudge is getting protective," Albus almost grinned. He still couldn't quite forgive the Minister for his reluctance of accepting the situation for what it was: war against Voldemort. Severus snorted. "Is he?"  
  
"We have to find out how Voldemort knew about Ms Granger's position here," Dumbledore said. "I wish Alastor were here already," he added in an almost sigh.  
  
"It's quite some trouble you go to for Ms Granger," Severus murmured, sipping his tea. "Maybe we'd better get Potter. That'd be exactly the thing for him."  
  
"You of all people ought to know better than to say something like that, Severus," Dumbledore said, disappointment clearly written in his voice.  
  
"I know. Forgive me."  
  
Albus furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you're quite all right, my friend?"  
  
Severus almost said that no, he wasn't. But that would only add to the Headmaster's worries, and he had already disappointed him once this day, which was enough. So he nodded.  
  
"Ms Granger is a brilliant young witch who will play a considerable role in this war," Albus said, as if that were something new for Snape. A sharp reply was on the Potions teacher's tongue, but this time he held himself back. Dumbledore was right. Hermione Granger was brilliant. Calculating the effect of Nagini's new venom with the help of Arithmancy was quite a stroke of genius. One that frightened him, to say the least. Where did it leave him, a traditional Potions Master, when this new approach to either subject became the accepted thing?  
  
"I shall take her under my wing, Albus," Severus said, and added somewhat bitterly, "or what's left of it."  
  
Dumbledore's tourmaline eyes were sparkling sharply, dangerously. He stood and clapped the younger man's shoulder. "Nora -" he began, but Severus cut him off with a bloodcurdling black gaze of his.  
  
"Very well." Dumbledore straightened himself and put his empty tea cup on the tray sitting on an occasional table. Then he turned for his desk.  
  
Considering himself dismissed, Severus stood and left the tower room descending the moving stairs as swiftly as ever. And felt as if he were dragging Dumbledore's disappointment in the wake of his robes' tails.  
  
~*~  
  
During the summer holidays, meals were being served in a smaller dining room. With all the students and some of the teachers gone there was no need to sit at more than arm's length at the High Table in the Great Hall. On a formidable day like this, the house-elves arranged for dinner in one of Hogwarts' artfully cloistered quadrangles.  
  
Hermione smiled as she saw the carefully set table in the centre of the grassy court. Since it was a roof-top court it was still washed in sunlight, and the castle's granite walls glowed warmly in the late-afternoon sun. It was the first time for her to have dinner at Hogwarts again, and while she had been almost disappointed at not having it in the Great Hall, this lovely arrangement charmed her even more.  
  
Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout were already there, chatting amiably and welcoming her with literally open arms.  
  
"Ms Granger, I'm delighted to see you again," the Herbology witch greeted her cordially.  
  
"Or should we say 'Professor Granger'?" Madam Hooch winked at her. Had her eyes always had that stunning a yellow colouring, Hermione wondered.  
  
Soon, the others filed in welcoming Vector's replacement warmly. Hermione and Severus nodded at each other, but didn't acknowledge the other until Dumbledore gestured for them to have a seat. Hermione suddenly found herself seated between Madam Hooch and Professor Snape. She carefully but discreetly eyed the white hand dangling from the sling he was wearing. He would need help indeed, she thought, almost embarrassed.  
  
Dumbledore raised his crystal wine-glass in a toast. The ruby liquid was sparkling richly in the fading yet bright light. "Welcome back, Ms Granger. As you all know, dear friends, she will replace our dear Professor Vector in the coming academic year. All the best to you, Hermione," he said. The words he hadn't said lingered in the air, as heavy as the velveteen wine on their tongues. Hermione blushed and smiled, murmuring a silent "Thank you".  
  
This wasn't about her replacing Vector. She was sure that Vector had taken a sabbatical to give her an excuse to come back to Hogwarts, where she would be under the protective wings of Professor Dumbledore's once again. Enough had happened in the past two days to realise that, and she had the strong suspicion that Snape hadn't told her as much as he could have.  
  
She met his dark eyes as she touched the rim of her glass to his. Was it the rich tinkling sound of full glasses that added that softness to his eyes? Hermione averted her eyes to the dark red wine in her glass. She couldn't, however, ignore the shiver that ran down her spine.  
  
It came almost as a relief to her as she saw Snape cut his helping of duckling breast with a simple flick of his wand. Of course, she shook her head, how else would he do it? Sometimes Hermione was amazed how quickly she got used to Muggle life; as was the case vice versa.  
  
She noticed his curious sideway glance, and nodded at him, mouthing for him to enjoy the meal. All she wanted to do was burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, kick her feet and roll across the ground. It wasn't the wine thinking. This was surreal, to say the least.  
  
Well, as surreal as it got in the wizarding world.  
  
After they had finished dinner and coffee, they were standing in little groups and pairs, nursing their respective helpings of brandy, whisky or beverages the like. Professor Sprout had dragged Hermione off into a corner to show her a particularly fine specimen of a rosebush - no doubt of her own cultivation. Maggie Hooch and Minerva McGonagall were lost in an animated conversation about Quidditch, and Flitwick had engaged Black and Dumbledore in a talk about - whatever he talked about. Severus stood by himself, gazing at the fair-weather clouds the gentle breeze had been blowing in from the not-so-far sea. Completely lost in their colouring by the setting sun, the whisky in his tumbler all but forgotten, Severus stood.  
  
He had yet to talk to Granger. They would be working closer together than he had anticipated when the plan of bringing her to Hogwarts for her own protection was first conceived. Sirius had offered to look after her, which didn't come as a surprise, taken the pair's history. Potter had had a say in that regard, too, there was no doubt about that.  
  
Maybe it was good, after all, that Voldemort had clipped his wings. At least now they knew where they stood, and that all the precautions they had so painstakingly taken proved a wise decision. Severus could not deny that he was glad to know Granger in safety. Despite his earlier comment to Dumbledore, he was well aware of the fact that she was an asset in this war, a dangerous weapon even. It galled him that they could not reveal that to her yet. Granger had a right to know. Knowing her as he did, he was sure that she would cope with this situation fairly well. Sometimes Dumbledore was being overprotective.  
  
Severus sipped his whisky. It had a fine malt taste and it was smoky and wonderfully warm as it ran down his throat. His gaze returned inadvertently to Granger. She was genuinely admiring Sprout's roses, even though she seemed to be freezing in the shadow of the cloister. He took a quick gulp of whisky in embarrassment as he found himself watching her more intently than he should. Granger wasn't wearing her teacher's robes, instead, she was dressed in what he could only term Muggle clothes. Clothes most of the students were wearing outside school; mules and a pair of indigo jeans, a halter top and a matching shawl. Severus had seen it was a halter top when the shawl had slipped off her slightly tanned shoulders during dinner, and he had seen the occasional freckle on her otherwise perfect skin, muscles and shoulder blades moving subtly underneath.  
  
Afraid of blushing, he once again sought refuge in his tumbler which he discovered to be empty already.  
  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
Severus almost jumped when he lifted his eyes again. The clear bottom of his glass had held his fascination for a while so he hadn't noticed Granger walking towards him.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"Didn't really mean hard enough, did you?" He forced cold in his voice. At the same time he asked himself why he was being such a dunderhead. She was meaning well, wasn't she? Then why had he reacted as though she wasn't? The feeling of being reproached flickered clearly in her eyes. Hermione drew the shawl closer around her, as if wrapping herself up in it steeled her for whatever she had wanted to tell him.  
  
"I -," she began, but paused. "This has time until tomorrow. If you'll excuse me?"  
  
Before he could so much as nod, Granger had already turned away to join the others. He raised an eyebrow at her. There was no doubt about where the sudden cold in her voice had come from.  
  
"And it's for the better," Severus mumbled under his breath. He sat the empty tumbler on the edge of the table, and swept away.  
  
- 


	7. Meetings

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Seven  
  
Meetings  
  
Severus found her in the Hogwarts gardens the next day. She had pulled up a teak deck-chair to one of the marble benches, on which were cluttered several books, parchments, scrolls, quills, a half-empty mug and a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Next to her on the grass lay what must be the Muggle device of archiving sheets of paper and more Muggle stationery. The book laying face-down on her chest rose with every calm breath she took.  
  
Severus wasn't sure if she had fallen asleep. As he bent to examine the titles on the books and saw the rows of numbers and calculations on the sheets of parchment his shadow fell inadvertently on her. Again he jumped when she spoke.  
  
"Good morning, Professor." She looked curiously at him, picking up her book and slipping a bookmark in between the pages without so much as wasting a glance at them.  
  
"Ms Granger," he nodded at her.  
  
"How's the arm?"  
  
Severus drew a deep breath, and touched his arm, still cradled in the sling. "Better. I think."  
  
Hermione shaded her eyes with her hand as an uncomfortable pause ensued.  
  
"I hope I am not disturbing you," Severus eventually offered.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Well, I -" Severus began.  
  
Hermione looked at him, puzzled. That wasn't really Snape towering over her, was it? Why didn't he just get on with whatever he wanted to tell her, and leave her to her research?  
  
"I'm sorry for having been so harsh last night," Severus said. "I had no right to ... well, my apologies."  
  
Hermione nodded. She sat up to clear some space on the bench for the professor to sit. "I have been doing some research and thinking about Nagini's new venom," she simply said, offering him a seat with a gallant gesture.  
  
He sat, a wave of gratefulness washing pleasantly over him. She obviously hadn't taken last night's scene too personally. Severus was fully aware of the fact that she could have, a fact that would have galled him endlessly, because his harshness had been directed at no one but himself. It was just so hard sometimes to conceal his bitterness. Then surprise almost overwhelmed him. Granger had already started to work on the riddle presented, despite everything. She was spending her time on him.  
  
Severus raised his good hand in a silencing gesture, and closed his eyes. When he looked at Hermione again, his features softened a tad. Not much, but enough for her to know that it was all right. "Ms Granger."  
  
Hermione put her feet on the ground on either side of the elongated deck-chair and put the book on its navy padding. But she said nothing.  
  
"Maybe we should cease the formalities. We are to work together closely, and I reckon that without them, it's going to be easier," he said. "My name is Severus."  
  
Hermione looked at the Potions Master in utter disbelief. Who was this man? One minute he was being reserved, the next he could be ... civil, if not downright nice. Before she knew what was happening, she felt her hand accept his, gliding into his soft warmth and strength. His hand was actually warm, and pleasant to the touch, not at all calloused as she had often imagined it to be. "Hermione. Pleased to meet you."  
  
That was how she felt, meeting an entirely new person. It was hard to believe that only three years ago, or rather, hardly two weeks ago, she had deemed the man the bringer of misery to any student's life, hers not exempt. But here he was, an arm in his sling, helpless in a way, offering her to call him by his first name.  
  
A quirk in the corner of his mouth. "Well, are you going to tell me what you've found so far?" He gestured at the pages filled with what was for him more or less useless Arithmantic scribbling. Granger - Hermione - had accepted his offer of peace. It was more than he had hoped for. Her grip on his hand had been firm and confident, ready to make a new beginning. Still, there was this nasty little voice nagging at him in the back of his mind, urging him to tell her that he had taken her under his wing, and why.  
  
Severus didn't have it in him to tell her. Albus trusted him, and in times like these it was the last thing on Severus' mind to betray the man who had given him a second chance when others had wanted him in Azkaban. Secondly, Hermione wouldn't accept his protection. She was a Gryffindor, after all, very proud and independent.  
  
"I have started to translate my Arithmancy findings into a more ... alchemistic form. But I'm afraid this can't be properly done without the help of a lab," Hermione began, handing him a piece of writing.  
  
"Ah, yes," he said, never looking at the parchment, "your office is very airy, with a lot of sunlight, of course." He looked at her and almost smiled inwardly as a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. Severus hadn't meant for the comment to be funny, and far was it from his mind to consciously make her smile.  
  
"Anyway," Hermione continued, "the milk almost completely neutralised the venom, but it also paralysed your arm."  
  
"It transported me to the place of my choice, too," Severus added.  
  
This was something Hermione hadn't been aware of. In fact, no one had really understood how Snape had returned to the rendezvous point. According to Sirius, he had been too weak, and would never have been able to Apparate on his own. "It did?" Suddenly she felt very stupid.  
  
"If you can focus enough, in spite of Cruciatus, that is," he said. "I should have told you earlier."  
  
Indeed, Hermione said silently. "So all you had to do was concentrate on any place and the new venom took you there?"  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"Fascinating."  
  
"Very much so," he added dryly. When she didn't say anything else, obviously thinking this new piece of information over carefully, he cast a glance at the parchment. Contrary to many of the other sheets lying scattered around them, this one was filled in a very neat handwriting, but it was undoubtedly hers. Severus found to his astonishment that Hermione had calculated the letters in the respective names of this new concoction and had thus divined their effect - simply put. The other scrolls told him enough to know that the calculations had been a difficult and time-consuming task.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
He looked up. "So far curses and spells haven't had any effect on potions, have they? I mean once the potion is inside you there is nothing you can do to change its effects with a charm," Hermione wondered aloud.  
  
"You mean Cruciatus wasn't only to daze me?" Severus concluded, paling a little. If that was the case then Merlin help them. That meant that a potion remained harmless and therefore - for lack of obvious symptoms - undetectable until activated by a spell. That meant that since it was impossible to Apparate or Disapparate into Hogwarts grounds, this new venom could make it possible to sneak into Hogwarts, or even appear out of the blue. That meant that either one of the Death Eaters had already used this venom and thus found out about Hermione's position, or there was a mole amongst them. Severus himself had been used as a guinea-pig to test the effects of the venom, only he hadn't gone back to the castle but to Hogsmeade instead. But surely, Voldemort already knew about it - and the side effect. So that left only the mole.  
  
When Severus met Hermione's eyes he saw these very thoughts reflected in them. There was no need for words, they understood the implications anyway.  
  
~*~  
  
"But what are we to do?" a pale Minerva asked, glancing from Severus to Hermione to Albus. Who couldn't provide an answer either. They were assembled in the headmaster's office once again, the atmosphere tense.  
  
"As long as we don't know how, exactly, it works, there is precious little we can do," Albus sighed, his old age showing yet again. "Merlin help us. I shall inform the Ministry immediately. We need the Aurors now, not the day after tomorrow."  
  
"Is that when Fudge promised to send them?" Minerva asked, hope flickering in her eyes.  
  
Albus nodded. "But still, Ms Granger, it is good you are here, despite this new situation." And, as a non sequitur, added, "I shall have Alastor bring Remus, too."  
  
Hermione cast a sideway glance at Severus. She remembered the Potions teacher's animosity towards Lupin only too well, but in times like these they simply would have to put aside the past in order to work together. But Severus didn't so much as bat an eyelid. "I wouldn't count on Voldemort's reluctance on using the venom. For all we know he might already have solved this little problem."  
  
"Severus, are you up to working together with Ms Granger?" Minerva asked, implying a comment on what he had said.  
  
"Yes," he replied, "but it's not done with this. We'll probably have to include most of the staff and their respective expertise in our work at some point."  
  
"Of course," Minerva nodded, resolutely again. The shock had obviously given way to her determination. "My door is open at all times."  
  
"Thanks, Professor," Hermione smiled. She had always known, somehow, that the staff worked closely together, but the readiness with which they had accepted her into their ranks still surprised her. To them, she was almost an equal, the age difference relatively unimportant.  
  
"You will have to keep your work confidential and secret, of course," Dumbledore said, getting up from behind his desk. "I suggest that you tell each of us only that which is absolutely necessary in order to help you."  
  
"That goes without saying," Severus murmured.  
  
~*~  
  
Poppy handed Hermione the vial that held a sample of Severus' blood. They were hoping that analysing the blood sample would give them further insight into the make-up of Nagini's venom. Afterwards they would have to find out about the effect of the Unforgivable curse on the concoction.  
  
"The bite is healing quite nicely," Poppy offered as she waved her wand over the crook of Severus' arm. "You should exercise the muscles, though."  
  
Severus looked from the dark red liquid in the vial to the Healer in surprise. So much depended on it. It hadn't occurred to him until then that he might need exercising. "And you were having in mind what exactly to accomplish that?"  
  
"Massages and a bit of stretching and bending," she explained nonchalantly, putting away her things. "You need to keep fit if you want to go back to normal once you've found a cure."  
  
"I don't have time for this," Severus replied. "We have work to do. A lot of work."  
  
The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she had even formulated the thought.   
  
"I can do it. We'll need a break every now and then, that's when I can do it."  
  
Two pairs of eyes looked at her in surprise. "Well of course you can, dear," Poppy eventually said. "I'll show you how, so you don't need to come up here every time," she said, gazing sharply at Severus. The Potions Master looked slightly scandalised. It was hard enough for him to depend on magic for his daily, private chores, and the idea of having Hermione do that for him was rather unsettling. It wasn't that he didn't like her, it was just ... something very private. And he hated being so dependent. He had been enough of a bother to various people in the past, the last thing he wanted was to repeat that experience and to add to his list of people he owed.  
  
"I don't think that's really necessary," he protested.  
  
"It's really nothing," Hermione reassured him. "It's my fault, after all, that ... you know." She could imagine doing without this very well, but she felt responsible.  
  
"It is not your fault," Severus repeated, his words clipped and very clear.  
  
"Healer's orders," Poppy said, resolutely. "End of discussion."  
  
Lips pressed together in a thin line, Severus refastened his shirt and the countless buttons lining the sleeve of his frock coat from cuff to elbow. At least he didn't have to wear the splint and heavy bandage anymore, but he had decided to rely on the sling for a little while longer. He hoped that by the time school started, he would be able to do without the darn thing.   
  
Hermione, meanwhile, followed Poppy into her office to obtain a copy of the book on physiotherapy.  
  
- 


	8. Old Friends

Disclaimer: see One  
  
Rated: PG-13  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Eight  
  
Old Friends  
  
Hogwarts' guests arrived the next day, as promised by Cornelius Fudge. The Minister had of course been loath to see some of his best Aurors leave London for the school, but Dumbledore had of course managed to make his point. It was better to have the Ministry's consent than having to call in the Order's loyalty. This way, Dumbledore forced the administration to acknowledge their precarious situation - or at least he hoped so. convinced him otherwise. Both Voldemort's targets lived at Hogwarts, in relative safety. What with the events on the oilrig, though, and Cedric Diggory's death - which still weighed heavily on the Headmaster's shoulder - Dumbledore deemed the Aurors' presence necessary. In the end, Fudge had given in once Dumbledore had mentioned the possibility of gaps in the school's confidentiality. Thus, after a conversation via Floo powder and a personal meeting of Minister and Headmaster, Alastor Moody and Remus Lupin travelled to Hogwarts, where they met with Harry Potter.  
  
Severus Snape held to himself when the guests were welcomed by Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hermione. Black appeared when Potter was whirling Hermione around as though he hadn't seen her in ages. For all Severus could tell they really hadn't seen each other in a long time, but he had a feeling that the two of them had always kept in touch and tried to meet as often as possible. Theirs was a rare example of mixed-gender friendship that actually worked, without ever having got to the romantic level. Potter and Hermione had been close ever since their first year.  
  
It had always been an issue of envy for him, but he would never admit that. Always an outsider himself, he had at times wished for nothing more than true friendship. Unlike Hermione, however, he had never been close to anybody - with one exception. Severus smiled an inward, very wistful smile.  
  
And now, with both Black and Lupin back together, Severus had a hard time choking back old, but nevertheless painful, memories. It had been difficult enough to accept Black among the ranks of teachers. It wasn't that Severus could not forgive easily - that depended. The mere thought that Black had consciously sent him into mortal danger was something he just couldn't dismiss that easily. It hadn't been Lupin's fault at all. On the contrary, years later, it had been he who had prepared Lupin's monthly doses of Wolfsbane Potion. But it were the humiliations they had him subjected to. That he couldn't forgive - forget, yes, but never forgive.  
  
"Professor Snape." It was Potter who went towards him, his hand outstretched in a friendly greeting. Severus looked at him long and hard, but he accepted the young man's hand and shook it firmly. For all he could tell, his relationship with the former student could change, similar to his and Hermione's.   
  
"Mr Potter."  
  
"Why don't you join us?" Potter gestured towards the small group.  
  
Severus eyed him carefully. "You of all people should know, Mr Potter, that I prefer keeping to myself." He touched the arm in his sling, a habit he had taken up lately.  
  
Harry, who had swallowed his pride and animosity for the sake of whatever, returned his gaze steadily. "We both know that this isn't really true, Professor."  
  
"Why would you care about my presence?" Severus asked softly, yet sharply.  
  
Something in Harry froze. "It is true, after all, what they say."  
  
"And that would be?" Severus tried to sound bored, but he couldn't help raising an inquisitive eyebrow.  
  
"Slytherins are too proud for heir own good," Harry said, "despite their better knowledge. If you'll excuse me."  
  
Severus stared after him, half fuming, half bemused. Who did Potter think he was? But before he could turn round Minerva was by his side and, her left arm linked with his, she pulled him towards the smaller dining room off the Great Hall. "He's not at all wrong, Severus," she whispered, tugging amicably at his arm. "Come on, do swallow your pride. It's us against You-Know-Who."  
  
He merely nodded. Minerva was right, but it didn't mean he and Potter's old gang did have to be the best of friends all of a sudden. Another inward sigh ensued. This was going to be hard work - being civil to Potter's gang; well, he would have to change gradually, so as not to make it too obvious for the others that he saw their point - he did have some pride left after all.  
  
As if Voldemort's return alone weren't enough already.  
  
~*~  
  
After a modest welcome dinner, Harry and Hermione had retreated to the privacy of her rooms to spend some time together. The windows to her room were wide open, allowing in some of the mild summer night's air. The open window was charmed, however, so nothing, not even the tiniest bug, could get in. The only exception to this was Perrine - an accomplishment at adapting a charm of which Hermione genuinely prided herself.  
  
Harry was nursing a Butterbeer, while Hermione remained with the wine she'd had for dinner. They sat in companionable silence for a while, smiling every now and then when memories of their time at Gryffindor Tower rose to the conscious.  
  
"You have no idea just how much Snape has changed," Hermione began, interrupting the silence.  
  
"Didn't look it, though," Harry replied. His green eyes were sparkling behind his glasses as he told her about the little scene earlier. Hermione only shrugged. "How's he coping with the paralysis anyway?"  
  
Again, Hermione shrugged. She could tell him about the magic he used, of course, but when it came to his feelings about it, she wasn't any less up to guesswork than any of them. The last thing he would share with her was something as private as that - particularly given his reaction to her offer of exercising his muscles for him. But this was something Harry didn't need to know. It was something between Severus and her - together with the fact that they were on first-name basis. Hermione had a hunch that it wouldn't go too well with Harry, at least not yet. He was a true Auror, always concerned for her, and she had a notion that her old friend had never really shared Dumbledore's trust in Snape, although the Potions Master had saved his life once.  
  
"I mean," Harry began when Hermione didn't reply at once, "wasn't he furious? For all I know he wouldn't have expected any less than a complete cure from you."  
  
She sipped at her wine, and studied the contents of her glass. "He never actually told me. All he said was that I did what I had to do."  
  
Harry looked at her, bemused, but with a sparkle in his emerald eyes Hermione knew only too well. He didn't believe her, or rather, he didn't believe Snape's reaction. He finished his Butterbeer. "The Weasleys send their love, by the way," he eventually said. There were more pleasant topics to talk about than their former Potions teacher.  
  
Hermione, glad for the change of topic, smiled warmly. "How is everyone?"  
  
Harry laughed. "Fred and George are working on their latest creation, of course. They of all people know we can do with a good laugh." Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been popular ever since the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and once they had established themselves and their owl-order joke shop, business had gone well for them.  
  
"Any particulars?"  
  
"Ah, I can't tell you. Yet." Harry grinned mischievously at her. "Ron was furious when he heard what happened. He wanted to come straight away, but I told him to stay put. The Cannons match is the day after tomorrow, and you can imagine how busy he is right now." After his graduation, Ron had got a full time job with the Daily Prophet as a sports editor. Since then he travelled the wizarding world in the wake of the Chudley Cannons' - and other Quidditch teams' - broomsticks. Ron had made himself quite a reputation with his in-depth and expert coverage, and he was as happy as ever.  
  
Again silence, and they could hear the sounds of nightfall through the open window.  
  
"Hermione -" Harry began.  
  
She finished her wine and put the glass back on the occasional table next to the sofa. She knew exactly what he was getting at. "I can't tell you." And frankly, she didn't want to, either. Why couldn't he see that she was glad for every minute she didn't have to think about Nagini's venom and Snape.  
  
Harry sighed. Of course she couldn't tell him without endangering her work. He knew what he needed to know. And he wasn't comfortable with his friend working together with Snape. Not comfortable at all. It wasn't really anything personal, but he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a voice whispering incomprehensibly in the back of his head, drawing nearer at times, only to echo faintly from a distance the next instant.  
  
Hermione covered his hand with her own. "We'll be fine, Harry. Trust me."  
  
He forced a smile on his lips. "As always." What else could he do?  
  
~*~  
  
Minerva McGonagall put her quill down and put the lid back on her inkwell. She watched the wet ink dry in the flickering candlelight. The black liquid adorned the sheet of parchment in sober lines, swirling and flowing confidently into letters, words and sentences, shone brightly for a while, but faded quickly all of a sudden, until Minerva could put away the sheet without blurring her visible thoughts.  
  
She blew out the candle and sat at her desk in the dark for a while, staring out of the window. The more her eyes got used to the light of the night, the more she saw, and she wondered if she could move around in the dark as confidently as in the light.  
  
Having the Aurors at Hogwarts was certainly a relief beyond measure, but she wasn't fool enough to let their presence lure her into a false sense of security. The discovery of Granger and Snape's about the potential of Nagini's venom had had her seriously unsettled. So much so, in fact, that for the first time she hadn't felt safe at the school. The only hope she had was that You-Know-Who didn't get too confident and dared to stand up to Albus himself. With his thugs they could deal.  
  
Constant vigilance was the only protection they had until they found out about the exact potential of Nagini's venom. But even with their wands drawn and senses alert they could fall prey to a suddenly appearing, and very likely invisible, Death Eater's nervous wand wrist.  
  
Minerva shivered. She - or any of them, for that matter - couldn't afford this kind of paranoia.  
  
The thought about the students returning in a couple of weeks made her sick to her stomach. It was hard enough to protect those few people present, what were they to do with a castle full of children? Whom could they trust? How could they protect them? These questions bothered her every August, but this year it was different. Why it was so, she couldn't tell exactly.  
  
Still, Hogwarts was the safest place for them to stay these days.  
  
She fanned her fingers across the parchment. It was unusually smooth to the touch, and the tip of her quill glided smoothly over it, letting her thoughts flow effortlessly. She had found a box of these parchments at Quills and Quartos a couple of weeks ago while searching for a new diary. Scarlet Tumsole, the shop owner, had assured her that binding the sheaves wasn't going to be any difficult, much less expensive.  
  
Minerva stood, then took off her square spectacles and retired to bed.  
  
~*~  
  
"My Lord?"  
  
Wormtail could feel his non-existent whiskers twitch in anticipation, a phantom sensation, a memory from his days in the body of Scabbers the rat, as he offered the news to Voldemort.  
  
"Ah," the Dark Lord wheezed, "new insights, I imagine?" He moved his arm to have Nagini let go of it. Then he accepted the note his most faithful of servants handed to him. An ugly smile contorted his flat face as he prided himself in the beauty of Wormtail's silver hand again. He quickly perused the news, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, flaming slits.  
  
"Have the blood sample intercepted, Wormtail," he hissed.  
  
"They sent it via Muggle post, my Lord," Wormtail said softly. "But I instructed our man at St Mungo's to keep an eye on it."  
  
Voldemort snorted. "Just as well."  
  
- 


	9. Marzipan

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Nine  
  
Marzipan  
  
"Severus, relax," Hermione said with firm gentleness as she watched him undo the buttons at his forearm. Was there a slight hint of amusement in her voice, too?  
  
Severus looked at her sternly. Suddenly, he'd rather have Poppy do this. Even the emotional safety of his office didn't help the feeling of anticipation rising within him. She is your colleague, he reminded himself. She's just doing you a favour. One, if he remembered correctly, she was at least as loath to do than he was to be on the receiving end.  
  
Hermione answered his stern gaze with that all too familiar know-it-all sparkle in her eyes that he still remembered from her days as a student. "Why don't you take off your coat, too?" She had already managed to talk him out of his mantle. She didn't want two layers of fabric bunched up in the crook of his arm for this. It could easily get uncomfortable, and in order for the massage and exercises to work he needed to relax.  
  
"Don't push it, Ms Granger," he snapped.  
  
Hermione ignored the use of the formality. "You'll be far more comfortable, Severus."  
  
"Get on with it, will you? I'll be all right." The light in his eyes was at least as venomous as the concoction responsible for this situation. He was sitting in one of the armchairs that occupied the space in front of the hearth-turned-bookcase, and he was very embarrassed of the way he had to present his injured arm to her. Once out of its sling, there was hardly anything he could do with it. The muscles below the elbow wouldn't obey him. Thus he had to employ the muscles of his good arm to put his left arm on the armrest for Hermione.  
  
Severus didn't look up at her. It was hard enough for him to surrender to her in this way. Of course he knew that this was for the best and that he'd be a fool not to take her and Madam Pomfrey's advice seriously. Not only did he want the use of his arm back as soon as possible, but he'd also need it in the war against Voldemort. Besides, there was no good in brooding over a solution to their problem, only to have his muscles degenerated by the time they actually made a breakthrough.  
  
He looked away, his chin propped up on his good arm, his eyes not really interested in the titles of the books piled around the old trunk on the grate.  
  
His well masked embarrassment had lit a spark of mischief in Hermione. From a pocket in her trousers she produced a small, brown bottle labelled massage oil. The glass was warm to the touch, and so would its contents certainly be after several hours so close to her body. As she rolled the bottle thoughtfully in her palms, thoughts of teasing him just a bit more by applying the oil soon made room for other, more serious considerations.  
  
It was clear why he didn't meet her eyes. The bared arm resting on the brocade made her see his vulnerability. The milky skin stood out starkly against the dark pomegranate of the upholstery, and although Snape's pose indicated that of a thinker, Hermione did not fail to notice the limpness of his hand and fingers - the way they dangled over the edge of the armrest was just too casual to be real. She could see the bluish-green of the veins on the yet paler inside of his arm and his wrist, and how they disappeared underneath the Dark Mark. It was as though a part of the man lay covered, dormant perhaps, under the irremovable magic tattoo.  
  
Parts Hermione had come to see in the past few days, if ever so faintly, shimmering under the milky surface. It was this vulnerability and openness that made her forget the flicker of mischief in her eyes. "Professor? I've brought some massage oil to help you relax," she said, holding the small bottle out for him.  
  
Severus slowly looked up at her, but said nothing.  
  
"Trust me, Severus," she said, trying to reach as deeply into the dark pools of his eyes as possible. Which wasn't very far at the moment. The bared forearm alone spoke volumes.  
  
This time, Severus parted his lips to say something, but obviously decided against words. He merely nodded.  
  
Hermione pulled up a stool and set to work.  
  
Severus once again sat as if deeply lost in thought.  
  
Until Hermione touched him. He had been fine with the flower and marzipan scent of the warm oil she had had melt away on his arm. It was still a relief to him that his sense of touch hadn't been impaired by Nagini's venom. On the other hand, the sensation of the slightly runny liquid had almost made him want to jump, the memory of Nagini's venom in his veins still unbearably vivid. The muscles in his upper arm tensed out of their own accord, but otherwise he didn't show any reaction.  
  
Then she touched him to spread the oil on his skin. Gingerly, then gaining confidence, first her fingertips made contact with his skin, then her fingers and then her palm. Something in the pit of his stomach exploded, the rush of adrenaline that hadn't surged through him when she had examined his arm back in the hospital wing. His good hand dropped heavily onto the other armrest, and he turned his head at her.  
  
It was strange to look at. This arm was and wasn't a part of himself. Hermione was employing both of her hands now, and both of them were glistening under a sheen of oil in the natural light of the candles. As was his skin. Fascinated, Severus looked at the patterns the fine hairs on his arm made as they stuck to his skin under the sheen of oil. The marzipan and flower scent got more intensive by the minute.  
  
The strength in her small hands surprised him. She kneaded his muscles as if they were marzipan-in-the-making, firmly, bordering on the painful - possibly painful, he corrected himself, because he didn't feel anything but pressure and warmth, especially at his elbow where shirt and coat-sleeve conspired with Hermione. He'd have to take off his coat the next time after all.  
  
"You're relaxing," Hermione smiled, meeting his eyes briefly. "That's very good." She ran her fingers and palms along his arm as if she'd never done anything else, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. It surprised her, too, that the awkwardness should be gone so soon, and her smile deepened as she felt the goose-flesh rise.  
  
Hermione ignored the Dark Mark, but was careful not to touch Nagini's bite mark. The magic tattoo felt strange to the touch, hot and cold at the same time, as if discrete from Severus' otherwise smooth creamy skin. It was like gold letters embossed on the spine of a leather-bound book, only the other way round. The lines of skull and snake felt bumpy, like badly healed scar tissue, his skin ...  
  
She had to remind herself of the fact that she didn't know the man. When she had examined his arm in the infirmary it had been far from her mind to pay any attention to the texture of the Winter Creature's skin. It was something she had to make up now - Hermione Granger! she scolded herself, shocked about her own thoughts. This is Severus Snape, your former Potions teacher, and this is like ... detention. Only she had to blame herself for it.  
  
"You're humming," Severus said softly, waking her from her reverie.  
  
Hermione stopped in mid-stroke, feeling the tendons and bones of his long thumb, the smoothness of his fingernail. The very sensitive lines of his palm. Shouldn't his hands be calloused from the work with herbs and spices and the less appetizing ingredients he used? She felt heat rise in her cheeks. She only hummed when she wanted to get rid of an awkward thought.  
  
"It's very quiet in here," Hermione replied.  
  
"I like it peaceful and tranquil."  
  
Hermione nodded and continued. Her fingers glided around his easily, thanks to the almond-and-flower-heavy air. She kneaded and squeezed every single one of his digits thoroughly. So long and slender, graceful even. Had they always looked like this? She turned his hand palm-up. The pinkness of his palm was surprising, his life-line long and deep, with the tiniest of moles at the base of his wrist where life-line met vein. A scholar's hand.  
  
"What is this song?"  
  
Had she been doing it again? "I'm sorry, Professor."  
  
She missed the spark in his eye. "Hermione, relax."  
  
~*~  
  
"Oh God."  
  
Again the relapse into childhood mannerisms. Hermione braced herself on the edge of her washbasin, her foaming toothbrush in her right hand. She gazed at the white porcelain of the washbasin, the white foam strangely fascinating as it made its way to the drain. She raised her head and met her own gaze in the mirror. The massage had been an utter disaster. It had been very long since she had last felt that embarrassed.  
  
"Oh dear, dear," the mirror said. "Is it still that bad?"  
  
"Worse," Hermione grumbled darkly. She closed her eyes.  
  
"Seems like you haven't driven away everybody, though," her mirror said.  
  
Hermione turned around to see Tenebrae sitting in the doorway. The cat looked at her expectantly.  
  
Hermione made a gurgling sound, almost choking on the mint foam in her mouth. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?  
  
~*~  
  
Dear Mum,  
  
I don't know where to begin. So much has happened these past few days. I even forgot to read your letter - how could I? I'm sorry for that. Perrine delivered it as faithfully as ever.  
  
Hermione stopped, tickling her nose thoughtfully with the tip of her quill as if to lure inspiration out of its shell. She simply didn't know what - or rather how - to tell her mother. It was true, many things had happened since her early arrival at the school, and there had hardly been any time for her to think these things over carefully. Now, however, that she was sitting alone in her living-room, she found the peace and tranquillity to get back in touch with herself. Hermione leaned back in her chair, and automatically her hand dropped to stroke Tenebrae, who had made herself comfortable in her lap.  
  
Some things fell into place all of a sudden, other answers remained elusive.  
  
Hermione was still certain that the position to teach at Hogwarts was an excuse for having her in what was probably the safest place in the wizarding world. At the same time, she was working together closely with Snape, probably the only teacher she had liked as well as disliked, to discover the counteragent for a strange new venom. She knew that Snape worked as a double-agent; on the one hand he provided as much first-hand information about Voldemort and the Death Eaters as possible, on the other hand he did his best to return wrong or incomplete bits of information about the white wizarding world to the Dark Lord.  
  
What was Dumbledore's role in this? Hermione was well aware of the fact that the Headmaster had more to say in this war than the Minister - unofficially, of course. They had known about Snape's meeting with the Death Eaters, because Sirius had waited up for Snape in the cemetery. Had Dumbledore anticipated a situation like this? It was certainly convenient that her other major subject was Potions.  
  
Her mother had told her that Neville Longbottom had moved into the neighbourhood. Neville, once a clumsy, pyrotechnically accident-prone boy, had taken up the legacy of his parents. He was now an Auror. Just like moving Hermione to Hogwarts, his moving next door to the Grangers was an act of protection. Hermione paused in her mindless caresses. How much did her mother suspect? She knew the basics of what was going on in the wizarding world. In her letter she hadn't let on any more worries about her only child's welfare than usual, but that was in all probability nothing but a façade.  
  
Hermione sighed and met Tenebrae's eyes.  
  
She ought to be furious. It was clear that something was rotten in the state of Denmark - but why didn't they tell her? She felt just like she had as a student - forced to find things out by herself. It wasn't that they didn't trust her, she mused. Knowledge could be protecting as well as dangerous. Hermione wasn't sure if Dumbledore wasn't for once wrong in his estimation of her.  
  
And here she sat with Tenebrae in her lap.  
  
Familiars that spent more time with anybody else than their masters were suspicious.  
  
"Who are you, Tenebrae?" Hermione scratched the cat's chin to make her meet her gaze. Animagi didn't usually beg for attention as much as normal animals. Sirius was always most reluctant about being petted - it was, after all, a very intimate touch. Imagine McGonagall sitting in someone's lap like Tenebrae was now. No, Tenebrae wasn't an Animaga. But what was she then? Well trained to look after Hermione? And by whom? What could a cat possibly do?  
  
Ah, Hermione thought, never underestimate felines. Crookshanks was the best example for this.  
  
I might as well tell you this now: Professor Snape's accident was bound to happen one day. He is doing fine, though, and the two of us are working together quite closely to make a complete recovery possible for him.  
  
As for everybody else ...  
  
~*~  
  
The marzipan and flower scent was gone when Severus stepped out of the bath, but the memory of Hermione's massaging hands was still there, as if imprinted in his skin. He looked at his useless arm. It bore the mark of evil, but Hermione had been unafraid to touch it.  
  
He sat in the only armchair in his bedroom, and stared at the painting that hung above the mantelpiece. Severus knew the painting by heart, every swirl and shade of colour, every stroke of the brush, and yet he could lose himself in its freedom again and again. It was one of the very few paintings he owned that weren't enchanted to move. It was beautiful as it was, full of life and light, more than it could ever have been had it been magic.  
  
The canvas had been turned into an evening sky, the most perfect he had ever seen. Nora had made it after a photograph she had taken on one of her many travels, and she had managed to catch the spirit of the sky from the magic photograph and render it into an even more magical painting.  
  
Severus held his left arm close to his body, and he felt Hermione's touch lingering on his skin.  
  
As he closed his eyes, his lips thinned into a harsh line, and he swallowed.  
  
- 


	10. The Garden

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Ten  
  
The Garden  
  
Perrine was the last owl to deliver her mail the next morning. Hermione had made herself comfortable in her chair in the teachers' dining room, balancing her mug of tea on her drawn-up knee. She followed Maggie and Minerva's conversation about Quidditch with more or less interest, and the seemingly endless rows of numbers the two women managed to put together - statistics and the like - soon made her thoughts drift towards her own numbers.  
  
So when Perrine came soaring in through the window and greeted her with a merry hoot, Hermione almost spilled tea all over herself. Thankfully, Severus was present enough to steady her hand as the mug in it jerked violently. The touch was brief, and yet the jolt it sent through her was more enchanting than the feel of his skin the previous day. She cast him a quick, grateful glance, catching from the corner of her eye Minerva's raised eyebrow and the twinkle in Maggie's golden eyes.  
  
Hermione, covering the awkward feeling, treated Perrine to a piece of toast once she had freed the owl of her burden: a copy of the Daily Prophet and a small package. She couldn't suppress a smile as she recognised her mother's untidy penmanship on the buff-coloured paper.  
  
"Good news, I hope?" Minerva asked over the rim of her square spectacles before she bit into her toast. She had helped herself to yet another slice, covered richly with rhubarb-and-vanilla jam.  
  
"It's good news that it arrived at all," Hermione was fumbling with the Sellotape her mother had as always used in abundance, to make sure the package didn't get damaged by Perrine's talons. "We'll have to see about the rest, though."  
  
"You sent some of my blood to your mother," Severus realised all of a sudden. Is it good guesswork or telepathic talent? Hermione wondered, not for the first time, but for the first time in ages. She remembered well Snape's talent to ... well, do what he had just done.  
  
"And very wisely so," Dumbledore commented.  
  
The former Potter gang, alerted by the attention Hermione was receiving, paused in their discussion about security and turned their heads towards her. Harry winked at her.  
  
"If you'll excuse us, we'd like to have a look at the results in private." Hermione stood, never letting go of the small box as she finished her tea.  
  
"Of course, dear," Dumbledore smiled wisely. He licked some marmalade off his thumb as he finished his slice of brioche. He was still smiling as they saw the last of Snape's billowing robes and Hermione's untameable curls.  
  
~*~  
  
They went straight to Hermione's office, a sun-spoiled room with beautiful frescos adorning the walls and the cloistered vault. The bookcases, fireplace and sofa lining the walls gave, at chest-height, way to bushes and trees painted on the smooth walls which eventually opened into a deep cerulean sky such as had never been seen in this part of the world. Part of it was obscured by a blue-and-red striped awning, draped across the cloistered vault. The parquet floor creaked homely under their weight when they entered the room.  
  
"Quite a place you've found yourself here," Severus commented. "But then it's not much of a surprise," he added, remembering her workspace on a teak deck-chair and a marble bench. He turned slowly around the room, taking in the masterful frescos. There was actually movement in the foliage and awning.  
  
He had never been in this room before. Vector's office was a few doors down the corridor, but it wasn't by far as ... fancy, Mediterranean, as this. Hermione didn't have a desk, instead, her books and papers lay scattered on various occasional tables, the sofa and on one big, round pine table that took up the centre of the room. An immense vase with a surprisingly cool arrangement of calla and white lilies dominated the round table. Their scent and the sunlight streaming in were so intense, Severus wasn't so sure for a minute if he was still indoors, or in Hogwarts at all, for that matter. Nora would have loved this room.  
  
Hermione just smiled as she made room on her table for this new piece of work. "Have a seat, then," she gestured for him to sit in one of the mismatched chairs at the table. She summoned fresh parchment and pencils from a shelf reserved for supplies and sat, one leg folded under her, in her chair.  
  
Severus joined her, and watched her patiently as she read her mother's letter. It had been a good idea to send out two samples of his blood. Knowing Voldemort as he did, Severus was sure that Pettigrew or some other Death Eater had undoubtedly intercepted the Muggle post to St Mungo's. If only they knew who the mole was; the possibilities at misleading the Dark Lord seemed endless, and it would make his work a little less harder and maybe more convincing.  
  
"Would you like to have a look at it?" She held the letter out for him.  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Oh, it's not that private," Hermione realised, still holding the letter out for him. Once he had accepted the sheet, she rose and went to the window.  
  
It was a printed letter, which was probably a good thing considering the glance at Mrs Granger's handwriting he'd got earlier. It wasn't telling him very much, though, and the sheet covered in handwritten Muggle-chemistry equations Mrs Granger had enclosed wasn't much of a help either.  
  
Dear Hermione,  
  
I have analysed the blood-sample you sent me straight away. I have found the unnatural substances at which you have hinted; I must say I have never seen anything like them before. The chemical analysis I have enclosed is but guesswork. You might want to discuss this with an expert of the wizarding world. It seems like a tampered-with kind of snake venom, containing neurotoxins.  
  
I'm sorry if I can't be of much help in this regard, despite my intentions.  
  
I hope you're well, and please give my regards to Professor Snape with my best wishes for a speedy recovery.  
  
Love,  
  
Mum  
  
"Thank you." Severus handed her the letter. "I'm afraid your mother is right. This isn't much of a help."  
  
"It was worth a try, though," Hermione muttered as she settled back into her chair. "All we can do is hope that You-Know-Who is as clueless about the make-up of Nagini's venom as we are. But I guess that's wishful thinking."  
  
"And even if he didn't before, the second sample we sent to St Mungo's will have enlightened him by now," he growled.  
  
They were silent for a while, each of them so lost in their thoughts that they could almost hear the wind rustling in the painted foliage and stroking the linen awning.  
  
"Maybe it's in Mum's equations," Hermione murmured and reached for the letter again, tearing the stapled sheets apart.  
  
"Hm," Severus grunted. He took the handwritten part of the letter and put it onto an empty sheet, produced his wand and tapped the two layers of paper once, murmuring: "Multiplico scripturam," to copy Mrs Granger's notes. While not part of the Potions curriculum at school, chemistry was an essential part of studying the subject at university. Although she wasn't quite sure if Severus had ever been to university - she couldn't be so sure from what little she knew of his biography - there was no doubt that he knew chemistry. He had to, how else would he be able to work? And the Arithmantic approach was too new and little-acclaimed yet - and she knew what his opinion of the subject was.  
  
"I shall retreat to my own office," he said, picking up the copy of chemical equations.  
  
"You're more than welcome to stay," Hermione offered, more out of politeness than really meaning it.  
  
Severus stood, tucking the copy into the sling.  
  
"I'll see you for physiotherapy, then," Hermione murmured, running her hands through her hair.  
  
A curt nod, and the Winter Creature swept out of The Garden; no other name had seemed appropriate to Hermione for this wonderful room.  
  
She slouched in her chair, a strong sense of defeat weighing her down. So much had depended on the test results, and now this. She had a feeling that her mother's analysis wouldn't help much, because it was entirely based on Muggle science and lacked the linking to the art of Potions. Add to that the fact that many of the wizarding substances were unknown to Muggle science ... Hermione groaned. How could she have allowed herself that luxury of optimism? It was entirely unlike her to hope against hope, particularly when it came to the hard facts of her work.  
  
Sighing, she began to decode her mother's equations to see which substances she had found. Thus she might be able to rule out the unknown agents from the formulas left at the end. From then on, it would be experimenting ...  
  
~*~  
  
Roaring laughter ripped apart the revered silence of the laboratory, followed by the tinkling of an Erlenmeyer flask shattering on the floor and the crashing of a stack of papers and folders being swept angrily off the work table. "Damn!"  
  
"What's wrong?" A calm voice approached the irate witch.  
  
"Someone tampered with the blood samples," she replied, trying to compose herself, and see the humour in it. It was and wasn't funny. "According to this," she gestured at the single occupant of the test tube rack, "Professor Snape is seven weeks pregnant."  
  
A grin tugged at the middle-aged wizard's lips, but faltered when the significance of the whole situation registered. There were two possible reasons for the mix-up: either the samples had been exchanged before they arrived at St Mungo's, or, and he shuddered at this, there was someone with dark intentions among them.  
  
"Well, at least they were careless enough to make the change obvious," he said, and drew his wand to uncover the original labelling of the test tube, so as at least to let the expecting mother know about her condition. And maybe, they'd be able to track down the journey of Snape's blood sample up to the point of the exchange.  
  
__ 


	11. Stronger Than

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Eleven  
  
Stronger Than  
  
"They're trying to get too much out of too little," Minerva said, handing Poppy a glass containing a dark red liquid. If she hadn't known Minerva so long, the Healer might have mistaken the juice for red wine. As she examined the chilly glass's contents, she found the liquid didn't have quite the right texture and it lacked the sparkle that wine usually had. The sparkle that Poppy couldn't help but see as the place where the beverage's spirits dwelled.  
  
"Elderberry and pear juice," Minerva explained. "I got a little bit tired of the ubiquitous pumpkin juice. It's one of Rosmerta's newest creations."  
  
Poppy smiled and nodded, then took a sip. The grainy sweetness of pears exploded immediately on her taste-buds, followed by the unfamiliar tangy elderberry. She nodded appreciatively. "You reckon this time it's even too much of a challenge for the dearest of our Potions masters?"  
  
Minerva gestured for Poppy to sit. "I'm afraid so. I hope he'll prove me wrong."  
  
A sip later, Poppy said: "Maybe Hermione's insights will help."  
  
"If he accepts her help."  
  
Poppy smiled at the contents of her glass. "He does, but only on a professional level. It's the challenge of finding out about the venom and the possibility to talk shop with someone who has actually an idea of potions."  
  
Minerva took off her square spectacles and cleaned them with a bit of sleeve of her blouse. It was still hot - and still the holidays -, so the Transfigurations teacher did without her usual heavy tartan robes. A blouse and long black skirt were enough for her on a day like this. "But?"  
  
"There's more to it, or rather, there will be. I might not be a Sybil Trelawney," Poppy paused, which Minerva used to remark quite dryly that fortunately, no, she wasn't, "but I'm not blind either."  
  
Minerva resettled her glasses on the bridge of her nose. "Severus can be courteous, you know, particularly when he feels safe." She had always been careful about speculations like these, and held with the opinion that as long as it wasn't official it was none of her business - as long as Gryffindor Tower stood orphaned, that was.  
  
"So he does feel safe now? With the arm in a sling and an impossible riddle to solve?" Some of the Potions teacher's sarcasm had rubbed off on Poppy, too, only it was of a benign rather than a protective nature.  
  
Minerva gave her a colder-than-the-dungeons stare. "Safe company was what I had in mind."  
  
The Healer grinned. "That's what I've said."  
  
Minerva didn't reply. Rather embarrassed, she emptied her glass of juice in one unladylike swig.  
  
"Well, I'll be off then," Poppy stood. "Thanks for the juice, my compliments to Rosmerta."  
  
"I thought he'd be more subtle about it," Minerva added as an afterthought. Poppy, already by the door, turned.  
  
"His familiar included. I haven't seen Tenebrae this much out and about the castle this much in ages."  
  
Minerva nodded her agreement.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus was on his haunches in front of the stele and yet again was replacing the wilted flowers with a freshly cut bunch of fire-lilies, as always. He tugged carefully at the budding flowers, making sure that they were at their most glorious when in bloom. Of course, the thought of planting the lilies in front of the stele had crossed his mind. But the idea of not returning to the stele was even more appalling to him than comparing wilting flowers to melting memories and fading feelings. Returning here had been his routine for more than two decades now, a routine he didn't want to miss.  
  
It wasn't about keeping the memories; memories are for carrying within your heart. Certainly, places and smells and colours and tastes and sounds did help. But there were hardly any memories at this place, Hogsmeade's park and cemetery. At least not memories he shared with Nora.  
  
Rather, it was about finding a place of peace away from the school and his rooms. A few words murmured to the engraved letters in the Italian marble often worked wonders, but most times he preferred just to sit and be quiet.  
  
The sun was warm on his back, particularly with black clothes on. A soft breeze was stirring the foliage above, showering golden specks of light on the grass. Severus inhaled deeply. These were the last days of summer, always one of the more beautiful seasons of the year, it was a last explosion of life before the drab non-colours of winter. There was nothing like flying over the Forbidden Forest, the leaves bright emerald and crimson and gold cushions underneath him, the wind heralding colder weather and maybe even the first scents of snow and ice. The sun, however, deceptive in his strength.  
  
Or a walk in the fallen leaves, rustling around his boots. That would be his way to spend this autumn, long walks out in the sun, shuffling through colours fallen from the trees. He wanted to make them part of himself, wanted them to flow into him and around him and through him.  
  
"We still haven't found anything," he murmured, trailing his fingers over the engraved letters on the marble. He sighed. The "we" unnoticed.  
  
A last tug at the flowers, then he stood. "I miss you so."  
  
The wilted petals were just about to fall off the stems as he threw them into a dustbin on his way out. Some of them did as the stems hit this morning's discarded copy of The Daily Prophet, and the petals slid deeper into the bin. Severus shook his head. They fell away like memories.  
  
Crunching gravel caught his attention. Discreet as ever about approaching people without startling them, second nature as it was to him, Remus appeared next to him.  
  
An artificial smile acknowledged his presence, but Severus was wriggling his fingers. "Remus."  
  
"A splendid day, isn't it?" Lupin's smile was genuine as he bent his head back and drank in the warm sunlight. Did he have any idea of how lupine he was?  
  
"Yes," the word was wistfully drawn out.  
  
"How long has it been? Twenty-three years?" Remus met his gaze.  
  
"Almost twenty-four." He touched the hand dangling from the sling, supported it to encourage blood-circulation. "I was about to walk back to the castle."  
  
"Mind if I join you?"  
  
They fell into step with each other. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Remus suddenly asked. Severus' head whipped around, his dark eyes twinkling with suspicion, piercing. The last thing he wanted was pity; he could provide himself with that very well. And he had thought that Lupin of all people knew about this.  
  
"Thought so," Lupin said, shaking his head.   
  
They walked in silence for a while, leaving the village via the bridge.   
  
"Severus."  
  
"What?" The sneer was back again.  
  
"I want to help. Do something, you know. Return the favour."  
  
"Taking the Wolfsbane Potion is a good enough favour."  
  
An arm across his chest stopped Severus. Remus stepped in front of him, his face calm but a glint in his eyes that reminded Severus of the night the werewolf had almost torn him apart. Instinctively, he readied himself to spread his arms to take flight, although he suppressed the urge.  
  
"This isn't about pity, Severus, and it isn't about pride, either," Remus said. "There are people up there who care about you."  
  
"Then they ought to care enough to see that all I want is to be left alone." The words were like shards, sharp enough to cut.  
  
Which they did. "You're such an arrogant bastard."  
  
The raised eyebrow at this made Lupin want to slap the Potions Master. "You can't run away for ever." Thus Lupin turned on the heels of his shabby boots and strode past Severus, back to Hogsmeade.  
  
Severus stood, curling and uncurling his good fingers. This was exactly why he was being such an arrogant bastard. Caring, in his case, was dangerous, for they did not know, and all the better for them.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus in his shirt-sleeves was a sight that stopped Hermione in the door between the Potions classroom and his office. It was a vulnerability that was completely different from his being asleep or wrapped in a bathrobe. She couldn't put her finger on it. Also, he looked very different in white than he did in black, less pale, less forbidding. A smile crept back on her face when she remembered that back in her school days they had wondered what Snape was wearing underneath these bat's robes. Now she saw: a lovely white shirt with a choker collar, tie and braces.  
  
It had taken her some time to finally get down here. She had found many things to do, many little, rather mundane things, before she had worked up her nerve to put the small bottle of massage-oil into her pocket. The previous day's awkwardness was still raw in her memory, and as always it would take her quite some time to get over it. Now that she was here again and saw him like this, totally absorbed in his work, she wondered why she had felt uncomfortable.  
  
She knocked softly on the doorjamb to get his attention, which she promptly received. Severus looked up from his reading. "Satisfied?" He pointed at his frock coat, carefully draped over the back of the chair in front of his desk.  
  
So he had sensed her presence. Of course he had.  
  
"Very." Hermione offered him a smile.  
  
"Well, shall we?" He stood and gestured for her to meet him in front of the fireplace full of books. Hermione was tempted to tease him a little bit about the fact that he had taken off his coat, but just like the previous day, she refrained. It was victory enough that he had accepted her advice, so there was no need to further gnaw at his ego. Severus didn't tease her either, and that was more than she could hope for.  
  
You're not his student any more, Granger, she scolded herself.  
  
She watched him roll up the shirt-sleeve - but had to look away. There was something about men baring their forearms that unsettled Hermione to the point of more or less desirable thoughts. Severus being Severus, this didn't help either. To think that she reacted to him the way she did ... it almost had her humming again.  
  
There was something attractive and sensual about Severus Snape, something that Hermione appreciated for the first time now; and if it hadn't been for the rolled-up shirt-sleeve she wouldn't have added downright sexy to her list. Those three adjectives and his name in one sentence was a concoction far more potent than Love Potion No 9.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
She sat abruptly on the stool. Never experiment with words again, she promised herself, and glued her eyes to the pale skin with the magic tattoo. Then stood to fish for the bottle in the pocket of her trousers.  
  
Once she was seated again, his limp hand settled in the cranny between her knees. Hermione grabbed his wrist and poured the warmed oil onto his skin. "Yes?" She put the bottle away and started to rub the oil into his skin, spread it.  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
  
She looked up, met his dark gaze. He was being serious, differently than usual. Probably just Severus-serious, a side she was only beginning to get to know. Too precious to throw away with one flippant remark.  
  
"Because you let me." Holding his steady gaze. She gave the limp hand in hers a squeeze, rather more confidently and longer than necessary.  
  
Severus opened his mouth to ask her why, to ask her why, and to ask her why yet again. To his great surprise the walk with Remus was still having its effects on him, because he had long since mastered the art of dismissing conversations of that kind. But not a single syllable of it would leave his mind now.  
  
Hermione was right. It was he who was letting her do this for him. "This is not so bad," he murmured.  
  
She laughed out loud.  
  
The crease in his brow was too deep for his eyebrows to meet. "What?"  
  
If it hadn't been Severus, Hermione would have reached out and cupped his cheek, but because he was, it was all the harder to keep her hands busy kneading his muscles.  
  
"You haven't been talking to Lupin, have you?" he asked, suspicious.  
  
"No."  
  
"So?"  
  
Hermione sighed. "It's because ... I seem to know an entirely different Severus Snape." She paused to let that sink in, and to realise what she had just said. "Or perhaps it's a distorted memory."  
  
This time it was Severus who smiled, a wee bit. "Perhaps." Perhaps not, he added silently.  
  
__ 


	12. The Tempest

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Twelve  
  
The Tempest  
  
"I don't trust this," Severus said. He was sitting in the far armchair, tucked away in the shadows of Dumbledore's rotund office, clad again in his midnight-coloured frock coat. For the first time since the door had opened to admit them, it struck Hermione that seeing him in shirt-sleeves was a rare privilege he had granted her.  
  
It was all she could do not to smirk broadly at the news the headmaster had just passed on to them. It was hilariously funny, of course, but on the other hand it made her skin crawl. They had always anticipated something like this to happen, and yet, when their assumptions proved correct, naturally, Hermione felt physically ill. She clamped a hand firmly over her mouth to choke her terror with hysterical laughter.  
  
"Severus?" Dumbledore, behind his desk, as always, raised his bushy eyebrows high above his half-moon spectacles.  
  
"Until now, Voldemort's actions have met exactly with our expectations," Severus said, his good hand sweeping the darkness like a will-o'-the-wisp. "He has something up his sleeve, something that is far more dangerous than Nagini's venom and its potential use."  
  
"Hm," Dumbledore made.  
  
"Anything in particular?" Hermione asked, glad to join the conversation in a way befitting her IQ. Her tone went a few notches to the left, though, and hit a sarcastic note.  
  
"I think he knows as little about Nagini's venom as we do."  
  
"You can't be so sure! He might as well just have got hold of the blood-sample to stop us." The bad thing was, Hermione immediately knew that Severus was right.  
  
"Believe me, Ms Granger, Voldemort has far more refined ways of stopping us up his sleeve."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Having a vial disappear is definitely too simple, I have to agree with Severus there."  
  
Hermione looked from one man to the other. "Rather, he enlists our help by challenging us."  
  
"Probably the brightest Potions Masters in all of the wizarding world," Dumbledore added, and received a sneer from the dark apsis. An instant later, Severus stood and walked towards the lighter half of the office. He cast a sideway glance at Hermione. Dumbledore was right, the two of them were the brightest Potions Masters. The strange thing was that despite himself, despite the jealousy and vanity, he was relieved to know that he was not alone anymore, that there was someone with whom he could share this burden.  
  
"But we can hardly thwart Voldemort by refusing to do our research," Hermione said. "Professor Snape needs the use of his arm back as soon as possible. Voldemort wouldn't buy it if we pretended we couldn't solve the riddle."  
  
"As far as I know we don't have to pretend anything," Severus replied. Somehow, he had managed to cross his arms.  
  
Hermione shot him an angry glance; once again, she had to admit that he was right. How she hated that. Not because she was a notorious know-it-all, she at least believed she had improved in that regard, but because she hated the powerlessness in which they found themselves trapped. They couldn't do anything. The worst thing was that the Ministry would probably order the Aurors back to London, because there was no real threat. Voldemort could not risk any more of his faithful Death Eaters by using them as guinea-pigs to find out about Nagini's venom by himself - not to mention that he probably didn't have the brains. He'd leave that up to Severus.  
  
"How likely is it that Voldemort will summon you again?" Dumbledore inquired calmly, ignoring Severus' shard-like remark.  
  
Severus brushed an errand strand of hair from his face. "I don't know. If he doesn't we know that he finds his ... other source more reliable."  
  
"I see." Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth, and offered his guests some on a silver platter. "I will talk to Alastor about this." At the mention of the veteran Auror's name, the Potions Master rolled his eyes. It wasn't in disrespect, or not entirely so. Alastor Moody was paranoid, to put it mildly, and although no one could really blame him for this, the disquiet his inquiries entailed irritated Severus already. "Meanwhile," the headmaster fixed his piercing blue gaze on the youngest professor, "I suggest you continue as if nothing happened. I believe you know Miss Spinnet?"  
  
Hermione smiled and nodded. Alicia had been a chaser in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was hardly believable that she was expecting a child, her first child. Alicia Spinnet had always struck Hermione as ... well, not the motherly type.  
  
~*~  
  
The Quick-Quotes Quill was sliding across the sheet of parchment and was faithfully copying down what the female voice dictated silently, stopping when the voice stopped to gather her thoughts. Several sheets of parchment sat, already filled in a writing that almost looked like printing, on the desk at which Peter Pettigrew was seated, watching the quill do its work. He was perusing the last page the quill had copied down, looking for that which might be of interest to them - practically everything if he chose to neglect the voice's very own musings and reports of daily events.  
  
The Dark Lord would be pleased. His little plan worked out better than either of them had anticipated, and it was surprising just how much of the writer's musings ended up on parchment. This was even better than Tom Riddle's diary. Better than having people spy for them - it was far more reliable, and safer. Just look at Snape. He hadn't even told them half of what was going on - not that they hadn't suspected something along these lines. Now he was paying for it, rather more dearly than he was aware. And Peter was able to present his Master all that which Snape gave them unwittingly.  
  
A stroke of genius, really. Now all they needed to do was find a way to infiltrate the Arithmancy professor's and Snape's office. If his source could be trusted - and there was no doubt about it, given the stack of very interesting parchment next to him - Snape and his little Mudblood hadn't found out very much yet. Which in itself was not so good a thing, but at least it left Peter enough time to make sure his invention worked the way he needed it. Which it did.  
  
Peter smiled and ran his silver hand over his bald head. Then he stood and went to the small window. The pane was encrusted thickly with salt and dirt and stuff about whose origin he would rather not know. The sea was calm today, and he was grateful for the relative silence on the oil rig. When it was windy there was a constant humming and clanking and creaking that was too much for Peter's comfort-level. He saw, of course, the point of having an oil rig for their hiding place. But the Animagus in him did think otherwise, and he hoped for a speedy discovery of the cure on Snape's part.  
  
Particularly with a storm coming on, he could almost feel it in his whiskers.  
  
~*~  
  
Naturally, Alastor Moody turned the castle upside down. The wooden clacking of his leg could be heard from the cauldron chamber in the kitchens up to the sixth-formers' rooms on the formerly forbidden Third Floor, from Hagrid's currently deserted hut - he was on a diplomatic mission regarding giants - to Sprout's pots and compost heaps, and even Severus' forbidding stare didn't make him stop at the dungeons - or the torrone-bribed goblin guarding the moving stairs to Dumbledore's office.  
  
The old Auror even made Minerva and Sirius transform into their animal forms to look at the world from a different perspective. "What do you think we'll find? A rat with a silver front paw?" Sirius had scowled. Minerva's glare at Alastor's insistence was magnified by the square glasses of her frames. She didn't need words to let everybody know that this was beneath her.  
  
When Severus went to Hermione's office to share an older copy of The Tempest with her, he found the oak door open. He knocked gently, then entered. Hermione was at the table that dominated the room, ordering her things - at least what passed for order in her opinion - while Alastor was on his knees, chasing his magical eye that appeared to have rolled into a far corner under the settee. It was all Severus could do to suppress a smile. Served him right, nosy old bat.  
  
"We certainly have to find a way to detect unregistered Animagi," Alastor rumbled. He dove for his magical eye, and once he had refastened it in its socket, came up and sat, panting on the settee.  
  
"Why, were you suspecting any under my sofa?" Hermione looked up, a bottle of red-wine in her hand. "I assure you, my room isn't bugged."  
  
Alastor looked at her nonplussed, but Hermione only grinned at her own joke, the memory of the Skeeter-beetle in the pickled-gherkin jar still very vivid. From the corner of her eye, however, she could see Severus start ever so slightly, then raise his eyebrow and incline his head a fraction.  
  
"Tea, anyone?" she eventually said. There was too much tension in the stare that had Alastor and Severus locked.  
  
"That would be lovely," Snape snarled, and put the copy of The Tempest somewhere on the papers piling on the table. A yellowed petal of a lily settled on it almost immediately, torn from the stem by the draught of his arm.  
  
"Can't trust no one, you can these days," Alastor rumbled, darker than the thunderstorm clouds drawing together above the castle. Both his eyes were boring into Snape. Hermione's gaze swept from one man to the other. There was definitely something going on between the two men. It was no secret that the two couldn't stand each other, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper; if only she could put her finger on it. Severus had started at the idea of unregistered Animagi, only slightly, but it had been enough for her to notice. She turned away to put the kettle on.  
  
Severus eventually turned away from Alastor. "As if you ever could," he said softly. The clouds gathering outside darkened The Garden, and the breeze toying in the curtains had changed into something rather more energetic. A second later, he was by the window and fastened it so there wouldn't be any damage done by the wind, yet enough fresh cool air was allowed in. It was a relief, really, after these hot days. Maybe there was a chance for a walk later on, after the storm.  
  
"So," he faced Alastor again, and swept back to the centre of the room to take the seat he had occupied the previous day, "did you find anything?"  
  
"Not yet, no."  
  
Putting the teabags into the mugs, Hermione grinned softly to herself. This was the Severus she knew. His tone stinging as ever, ready to tease, torment. She wasn't sure if she liked it, but she couldn't deny she was glad to see that he hadn't changed as much as she thought he had. And at the same time she asked herself what she had done to deserve this downright respectful treatment of his which she had had the pleasure to enjoy.  
  
"Not much of a surprise, is it?"  
  
Alastor stood, bristling. "You'd better watch it, Snape. You of all people. I'll have an eye on you, that's a promise."  
  
"Oh," his tone mocking, "well, I certainly hope you do not mean that in a literal sense." He accepted the mug Hermione was offering him. Again, he had to steady her hand, and when he looked up at her he could see - to his own pleasure - that she was trying hard to cover a grin. "Because accidents do happen, even with the children not around. Yet."  
  
"Tea?" Hermione held out a mug for Alastor as well.  
  
The old Auror only patted his hip-flask. How could she have forgotten that he never drank anything that did not stem from his very own supply? He limped away, the clank of his wooden leg accentuating the very determined sound of his boot on the parquet floor. The door flew shut behind him.  
  
"So you're better, I see," Hermione said, stirring her tea calmly. She licked at the spoon, then put it down on one of the few visible patches of tabletop. The grin in her voice was gone, though. Severus tended to his own tea, squeezing the water out of his teabag and spooning in sugar.  
  
"Mr Moody and I are barely on speaking terms."  
  
"Who would have guessed," Hermione said dryly, sipping her tea carefully. There was nothing as unpleasant as the furry feeling of a burned tongue.  
  
"Yes. Now," he put down his mug and picked up the copy of the periodical. "There is an article you might find interesting." Hermione, until then reclining in her chair, sat up, her attention at once on The Tempest. "It isn't related to our problem at all, but I thought it might help to ... take your mind off the matter for a while."  
  
How very thoughtful, she commented silently. And again she wondered what made her deserve his respect.  
  
Outside, the first thunders rolled over the castle, following the forked fire-tongues licking at the hills and the towers. A few seconds later, rain started pelting against the windows protecting The Garden. One of the Potions Masters murmured the charm to light the room as they bent over the papers.  
  
__ 


	13. The Tower, the Nest and the Den

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Thirteen  
  
The Tower, the Nest and the Den  
  
Sebastian Leontes literally heaved a sigh of relief as he dropped on the red and gold duvet covering his massive four-poster. It was good to be back. This room was even more his than the one he had at his parents' house. Ever since the Third Floor wasn't taboo any more, students of years six and seven had been allocated their own rooms there. Many of the students had brought back to school quite a few of their personal things, something they hadn't been able to do in the dormitories. Thus, Sebastian's room at the castle was more his room than any room had ever been.  
  
His trunk and other things had been brought up already, of course, and unpacking them, he rediscovered the room he hadn't seen for two long months. It was his oasis, the place to which he retired, where he sought refuge, or threw wild parties. He directed his wand at his fireplace and had flames slither along the wood and spicy smoke curl up into the chimney with a few murmured words. Although the fireplace wasn't connected to the Floo network for travel, he could send and receive notes and small objects without having to rely on the owls. Sebastian scribbled a quick note on a bit of Floo parchment and tossed it into the flames. For an instant, they turned green, which he used to supply the address: "Ada Gudrunsdóttir."  
  
Sebastian was obviously the first of their quartet to arrive, for there had been no message waiting for him. He trusted Ada to pass the note on to Ri and Dennis, so they could meet before or after the welcoming feast. Despite mutual visits with each other and exchanging owls, he had missed his friends a lot in these past two months, and he was eager to see them again. This year was going to be very special, since it was their last at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And the four of them were planning to enjoy every single second of it.  
  
Just as he was taking off his Muggle shirt, someone rapped at his door. He redid the buttons and called for the visitor to enter. It was Ada.  
  
"You know you could have come to see me," she said, hands on her hips in mock annoyance. "It's not like my room is travelling around or anything." And she was right. Her room was just a bit down the corridor, the first on the left after the common room and the silent study rooms, which served as a divider between the girls' and the boys' quarters. In their last two years, students did not live in their respective houses anymore - although they still belonged to them - but shared one floor so they could work together better.  
  
"And it's lovely to see you, too, Ada," Sebastian said, hugging the tall blonde Slytherin. She was still in her travelling clothes, too, but other than most of the students she had Apparated to Hogsmeade. Hers was one of the farthest distances: she lived in Reykjavik with her mother.  
  
Ada laughed, and hugged Sebastian back. He was a bit taller than her, with a shock of black curls that refused to be tamed however short he kept them. "Oh it's so good to see you again. I sent the note to Ri, she'll probably turn up before Dennis. Have you heard? Professor Vector left the school."  
  
They flopped onto Sebastian's bed to exchange the latest gossip. The two of them had taken Arithmancy as one of their major subjects. So naturally, a change of teachers was quite a piece of news to them. And a shock. "No, I've only just arrived. Why did she leave?"  
  
Ada shrugged.  
  
"Woah. That's not so good. Vector was great. Do you know about her replacement?"  
  
"Some people - the paintings included - tell me they've seen Hermione Granger around," Ada said in a conspiratorial tone. "The Bloody Baron wouldn't tell me anything, though."  
  
"Hermione Granger!?" Sebastian repeated in disbelief, and at the same time felt the colour rise in his cheeks.  
  
Ada grinned Slytherin style. "Oh dear," she chuckled, then ruffled Sebastian's curls. "We'd better change. The feast is going to start soon, and we'll find out then. See you afterwards in the common room?"  
  
~*~  
  
Down in the Great Hall, Ada sat with the other Slytherins, and at the very end of the long table, much to her chagrin. She couldn't see much of the teachers' table; not that it was usually such a bad thing, on the contrary, but that day she wished she could see for herself if Professor Vector was really missing. Her contortionist's efforts were to no avail, though. The little ones were always moving, obscuring her view whenever she thought she was able to catch a glimpse of the High Table. All she could see was Professor Snape's corner, but she had little desire to see the Old Bat just yet. His usual speech in the Slytherin common room was a soon enough time to see him.  
  
So instead, Ada turned around in her seat and tapped Ri on the shoulder who was sitting right behind her at the Ravenclaw table. At least one person from their group was close to her at dinner times.  
  
Ri, who until then had been engrossed in a heated debate about something or other, turned, and flashed the Slytherin a wide grin, her hazel eyes sparkling. She had grown her dark wavy hair down to shoulder length over the summer, and it suited her well. They had exchanged only a few words during the Sorting, but now that everyone was nearly finished with their dinner, a little interaction with the neighbouring table hardly disturbed anyone. "Are we meeting at the usual place later on?"  
  
Ada nodded, smiling in anticipation. "Can you see Professor Vector?"  
  
Ri looked at her puzzled, leaned forwards and backwards, craned her neck, but in the end she had to shake her head. "That's strange. Where is she?"  
  
"Paintings have it she left and that Hermione Granger is her replacement," Ada filled her in. Ri had arrived at the last minute, and thus hadn't had much chance to catch up on the latest gossip.  
  
Just then, the clear, sharp sound of a tinkling glass echoed through the room, and all heads turned towards the High Table. As weak as the sound seemed in comparison to the constant murmur and laughter in the Great Hall, it had so far never failed to attract everyone's attention. Nor did it now.  
  
Professor Dumbledore got up, aware of all eyes directed at him, faces eager to hear the words of dismissal. He smiled a little smile. The students had so much to tell each other and meet old friends again; he could understand them quite well. "I will not keep you any longer," the headmaster intoned, a hand raised in reassurance. "As some of you might have noticed - and without any doubt heard - Professor Vector has left Hogwarts for the coming academic year. For a replacement, we are happy and glad to have with us Professor Hermione Granger."  
  
Sitting in Vector's place at the High Table, Hermione rose, cheeks ripe with embarrassment, and smiled at the cheering crowd. Many of the older students she still knew from her own time at Hogwarts, but not so the younger ones, and she couldn't help but wonder if they had ever been as young as those sitting at the front of the House tables. It was a strange feeling to sit up here, with the teachers, rather than at the Gryffindor table. For the first time she realised that from now on, she would be on the "other" side at Hogwarts: a teacher, not a student anymore. And the students would hopefully accept her as such.  
  
Dumbledore raised his hand again, and the cheering, which by then had turned into polite applause - the students had undoubtedly appreciated the little difference between Hermione and Professor Granger - stopped. "Enjoy your evening, and welcome back everyone. All the best for a new year at Hogwarts!"  
  
Hermione smiled self-consciously as she sat down again, Hagrid's reassuring clap on her shoulder very welcome. Her wandering gaze stopped at the Winter Creature, but he only raised an eyebrow at her, then stood and left the Great Hall through the door behind him.  
  
Ada and Ri had risen shortly before Snape left the room, and neither of them failed to notice he was having his left arm in a sling. They exchanged surprised glances, although Ada had a feeling that her sensible Ravenclaw friend already had an equally sensible explanation for this.  
  
"I'd better go down to the Snake's Den," Ada said. "Or the Old Bat's speech will commence without me."  
  
Ri sighed. "See you later then." Then, as an afterthought, as was their private little joke, she added: "I wish you were more respectful!"  
  
"With Snape?" Ada replied. Then she turned on her heel, trailing her robe behind her in a perfect imitation of the Potions master's best swishing movement.  
  
Ri chuckled, and caught up with Orla Quirke and Stewart Ackerley. There would be time enough for them to celebrate their reunion in the Third Floor common room. For now, they had to go to the Ravens' Nest to attend the beginning of the year meeting with Professor Flitwick. Contrary to Snape's, these meetings were quite enjoyable, seeing everyone with a mug of hot chocolate and fresh biscuits in Ravenclaw Tower, seated around the fireplace that took up the centre of the common room as if around a camp fire.  
  
~*~  
  
Henrietta Tumsole was a resident of Hogsmeade, and yet she chose to live in the castle where her friends were. Her mother, Scarlet Tumsole, was the owner of Quills and Quartos. Just like her three friends, Henrietta - or rather Ri, as she preferred to being called - was a little mismatched in the Ravens' Nest. She was very brilliant, tutored younger students in Potions and Transfigurations, but sometimes one might very well imagine her colours to be that of Gryffindor, or even Slytherin. Buried deep within her was bravery that struck others as bordering on the reckless at times, and there was elegance of thinking and sensuality. The best of all Houses, topped off with Hufflepuff loyalty - a comment she preferred in parentheses if the Slytherin in her was talking.  
  
On her way from the Nest to the Third Floor she met up with Dennis Creevey of Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts' new shining Keeper-star. The once mousy, somewhat clumsy boy had changed into an athletic young man, his crooked nose - courtesy of a rogue bludger - turning the heads of young witches, and more importantly, wizards. Just like his best friend Ri, Dennis had given the Sorting Hat a hard time seven years ago. It had been only in the previous year that Ri and Dennis had become good friends, despite their having attended classes together for ages.  
  
"Ri, love!" he called on her, taking three steps at a time to join her at the foot of the stairs to the Third Floor. Once there, he enfolded tiny Ri in his arms.  
  
"Oh it's so good to see you again!" she laughed, catching her breath. Sometimes she wondered if he didn't mistake her for a Quaffle.  
  
"Quite some news to get back to," Dennis began, beaming.  
  
"Did you see Snape? I can't wait to hear what Ada has to tell us about him!" Ri was, despite herself, quite excited. Potions was one of her favourite subjects, and its teacher her friends' favourite means of teasing her.   
  
__ 


	14. First Fires and Other Burnings

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Fourteen  
  
First Fires and Other Burnings  
  
The Third Floor was humming with life after the long two months of peace and quiet. Portraits and ghosts alike smiled benignly on the young people who flitted through the corridors once again, part of them in their last year at Hogwarts. Sir Nicholas and the Grey Lady floated through the open door in the Third Floor common room. It was a circular room, of course, with two fireplaces, and a balcony that ran the entire circle, providing space for those who wanted calm without having to retreat to the silent study rooms. A huge chandelier dominated the room, suspended from the dusty beams that were obscured by the darkness of the conical roof. From huge bay windows - obviously added long after the castle had been built - the students commanded a beautiful view over the grounds; on nice days the mountains stretched in hazy blue shades along the horizon, beyond the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch field. On gloomy days, of which they would have plenty in the months to come, they were glad if they could make out the path that led to Professor Sprout's greenhouses.   
  
The four friends had, as always, withdrawn to one of the smaller fireplaces on the balcony as soon as they could leave the meetings with their Heads of House. It wasn't so much because they had to secure the place; ever since they had met, the others respected this fireplace for what it was: theirs. No, they were anxious to return there, and exchange the latest news.  
  
When Ri and Dennis collapsed into the dark velveteen armchairs, Ada and Sebastian had already finished half of their mugs of hot chocolate. Although both boys were from Gryffindor Tower, Sebastian had arrived earlier since he did not have to attend an impromptu meeting of the Quidditch team. Slytherin meetings were always brief, and usually the least interesting. This time, however, Ada had everyone's attention once they had hugged and kissed each other and settled back into the spoiling armchairs.  
  
"So, what is it with old Snape?" Dennis said, drawing his wand to Accio two mugs of tea from downstairs. The hot beverages zoomed up without so much as spilling, and landed safely on the coffee table in front of the fire.  
  
"He said it had been an accident before anyone could even ask him," Ada shrugged. "He gives me the shivers sometimes."  
  
"Oh, come on," Sebastian said. "It's not like he could read minds. It's obvious that everyone would ask him that. You know what he's like."  
  
"Still," Ada pouted, and lifted her mug. "There was something else about him, too."  
  
Ri raised her eyebrows, ignoring the boys' grins. "He'll be insufferable, I guess."  
  
"'fraid so," Dennis nodded. "But let's not talk about him. We'll see enough of him as it is."  
  
"Right you are," Sebastian said pointedly.  
  
A second of crackling fire, then: "An accident, huh?"  
  
"Henrietta!" They always called her that when they were being serious.  
  
"What!?"   
  
Sebastian put his mug down. "You of all people should know what's going on up here during the summer.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione, a bottle of wine tucked away securely somewhere under her robes, was just charming her Garden door when she heard soft footfalls echo in the corridor, accompanied by the almost inaudible rustle of black fabric. An instant of surprise soon gave way to the ghost of a smile, and when she turned around to face Professor Snape, it was only an arm's length that separated them. Her eyes found the buttons of his frock coat, and her nostrils flared ever so slightly at his scent, a delightful mixture of soap and herbs.  
  
"Good evening, Professor," he said, emphasizing her new title. Although his tone was perfectly neutral, there was something slightly derisive in it. It reminded her of her very first Potions lesson, the way he had spoken of Harry as their "new celebrity". Did he just need time to get used to her as his colleague, or was it the Winter Creature talking?  
  
"I was just -" she began.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course. When did you say your office hours were?"  
  
Hermione tucked her wand away. Then she lifted her chin to meet his eyes, a little bit defiantly perhaps, but not as scared as she used to be. "You know, my office hours aren't an invitation for just about anyone to come and bother me."  
  
"And very wisely so," Severus replied calmly. Too calm, for Hermione's taste. "However, I trust I am not 'just about anyone'?"  
  
She shifted her weight to the other foot. "Indeed, you're not. But then again, who would expect you to act on common courtesy?"  
  
Severus straightened in his robes. Something was going utterly wrong here, and this despite his better intentions. "No one, I assume, Ms Granger." He dropped her title deliberately, his voice harbinger of the season to come. "Which is a pity, really, because I came to welcome you and maybe share a glass of Ogden's or whatever you prefer, and discuss one thing or the other. But I see now that my ... company is as appreciated as ever. Forgive my intrusion. Good night." Thus he turned on his heel, his crisp robes swirling behind him as he hurried very dignified whence he came, into the darkness of the corridor. Hermione was so stunned she didn't even have the chance to say something until she saw his heels hitting the tails of his outer garments. She almost dropped the bottle of wine.  
  
Later, Hermione didn't remember if she had walked, hurried, or simply gone back to her rooms, so engrossed was she in her thoughts. It was only when her mirror cleared its non-existent throat that she came to. Already changed for bed, she found herself in the bathroom, clenching her toothbrush between her teeth, peppermint foam dribbling down her chin.  
  
"If there is anything I can do for you, dear," the mirror said softly, and Hermione was almost sure it would have touched her shoulder reassuringly if it could, "please let me know."  
  
"There's nothing you can do, but thanks anyway," Hermione mumbled, spraying spittle and foam.  
  
She wished she could chalk it all up to Fudge. Which, in a way, she could. Ever since the Minister had ordered the Aurors back to London - there was no immediate threat, - the atmosphere at the castle had been tense. Even the Aurors themselves had been furious and made it a point to reinforce and add spells protecting Hogwarts before their departure. Professor Dumbledore's complaint had been dismissed most unceremoniously, and Fudge had sworn all of them to secrecy. As long as Snape and Granger didn't find out any particulars about this new venom it didn't exist and there was no need to upset anyone. A notion that was legitimate to a point, but the presence of Aurors at Hogwarts could be explained easily without making anyone suspicious.  
  
As a consequence, everyone's nerves were tense, Hermione's more so because it was her first time ever to teach. It wasn't really an excuse - or at least it shouldn't be - but this was all she could do.  
  
And it had been Severus of all people who had had to bear the brunt of her explosion. Hermione was awfully sorry for that, since he had been friendly and meant well. It was little comfort that his temper flared often enough in a very similar manner - for he and she were quite different people, and she never lost control like this.  
  
"You will have to apologise, Granger," she admonished herself, then rinsed her mouth and splashed some cold water into her face. When she looked into the mirror again, she could meet her eyes more comfortably. Well, of course she had to apologise. But sometimes it helped to speak the words out loud.  
  
~*~  
  
"As you certainly have heard by now," the Professor sneered, casting sharp glances at the Slytherins in the first of the two seventh year classes he taught, "I have had an accident." This time, he fixed his cold, bottomless stare on the Gryffindors. Severus kept his arms crossed; he had no intention whatsoever of inviting the pupils to stare at the arm in the sling. "This does not mean, however, that classes will be any different. I expect from you the same diligence at work and concentration as always - despite my better knowledge, as always, I might add. However," and here he turned around sharply at his desk, pinning the more or less impressed youths down with another of his notorious glances, "I shall require your assistance from time to time; more often than in the past."  
  
Ada rolled her eyes - mentally, of course, because Snape was talking detentions now, for this was the kind of assistance he had in mind, and she was not eager to be the first this year - or one of them at all, for that matter. Which was going to be difficult with the Old Bat handing out detentions like chocolate. And she had never been good at keeping her profile low. Not in this class, with Dennis and Sebastian in her back.  
  
"I know someone who will be delighted at these news."   
  
Speak of the devil. Why can't you just shut up, Dennis Creevey? Ada thought, half exasperated, half exhilarated. It was one thing to tease poor Ri, but it was another to do it on the expense of detention with Snape.  
  
"Mr Creevey." Severus had been waiting for a comment like this. He pounced on the young man, braced himself on the edge of his desk. "Mr Filch has already been informed, and I am sure he will find an activity taking up the whole evening that is not related to Quidditch." Severus stared intently at the boy with the crooked nose, and it was good that Dennis averted his grey eyes first. Not that Severus trusted this first impression of the term to be a lasting one for the seventh years; maybe it would be impressive enough to keep today's lesson a smooth one.  
  
~*~  
  
In one of the classrooms above the ground, two premieres took place at the same time. Professor Hermione Granger was teaching a group of students from all Houses who did have more or less of an idea what Arithmancy I was about. Making her syllabus, Hermione had decided that, despite her attitude towards Sybill Trelawney's so-called craft, this was a good sign. They did not know her personally and were most likely to accept her in her role as a teacher. Some of them with older siblings attending Hogwarts might know her from stories, but she doubted that. In their last years at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry had been the more prominent of their trio, with Hermione standing in the back.  
  
Yet she found her role awkward, because it had not been long ago that she herself had sat in this classroom as a student. Thus she could relate to her students very well, but she had to accept the fact that they did not appreciate that at all, because she was a professor. It was the age-old paradox. On the one hand pupils wanted their teachers to understand them, but at the same time they resented the very idea of teachers understanding them too well. Truth be told, Hermione did not want to be friends with her students. She wanted to get on well with them so they could learn in an inspiring way.  
  
"I am Professor Granger," she began, stepping around Vector's - her! - desk and leaning against its edge. "Welcome to Arithmancy I."  
  
The little-less-than-half-their-year class looked at her expectantly, and raised their hand when Professor Granger called out their names. "Well then, off we go. I'd like for you to tell me what you expect from this course. Why don't you start, Miss Chandos?"  
  
~*~  
  
The four friends finished their lunch as quickly as always and went for a walk on the grounds to enjoy the wonderful day before their afternoon classes.  
  
"Snape's going to be more than insufferable this year," Dennis announced. The promise of an evening with Filch was still more than vivid in his imagination. Sebastian and Ada agreed. "So, why don't we start a list: top ten ways of getting detention with our Beloved Potions Master?"  
  
"Ha ha," Ri made.  
  
"No, seriously. We could collect 'offending behaviour' so as to find a pattern and avoid detention ourselves," Dennis explained.  
  
"There is no pattern, Dennis," Sebastian pointed out. "Not with Snape."  
  
"Why, have you asked Granger to calculate one?" Ada shot back.  
  
Ri decided to side with Sebastian. "Have Slytherin win the next Quidditch match, that'll do for a week or two."  
  
Ada snorted. "Dream on. I'd say two or three days at the most." The four of them laughed out loud. "We should find him a woman, that's what he needs." She cast a very sweet look in Ri's direction.  
  
"You weren't thinking of anyone in particular, were you?" Sebastian asked, mock serious.  
  
"You know," Dennis chimed in, "that's exactly the way I've always wanted to spend my last year at Hogwarts: matchmaking for the Beloved Potions Master."  
  
"No one was talking of romance, Prince Broomstick," Ada sniggered. "The man needs to get laid, that's all."  
  
"What if he's been getting laid all summer, only it didn't work out?"  
  
Glad for a chance to distract the others - Potions was next on her timetable - Ri quipped, "Talking about accidents again, aren't we?"  
  
~*~  
  
Teaching the seventh years was more fun, but it came at a price: they all knew her as a student, some of them she had even tutored. Hermione chose not to talk about that at all unless one of her students mentioned it. The weirdest part of the story, however, was the disturbing fact that Sebastian Leontes still seemed to have a crush on her. She had helped him with his Arithmancy homework a couple of times, and even then there had been a strange undercurrent of tension between them. At first, Hermione had ignored it, but at some point she had found it difficult to teach the boy at all - and had quite unGryffindorishly swapped tutoring groups with a Ravenclaw girl.  
  
Hermione had to do Sebastian credit that he was very discreet about it now, or maybe his crush had softened into nothing more than admiration, something she could handle more easily because it did not put her in the centre of everyone's attention. A kind of attention she found difficult to deal with, as opposed to the attention she got - or hoped she got - as a teacher.  
  
"I appreciate the fact that this is not a very good point of time for a change of teachers for you," Hermione began. "I am in touch with Professor Vector, who sends her best wishes, by the way, and she promised to provide us with all necessary information. She also offered to help out via owl if there should be any problems. Which I truly hope won't be the case because I would like you to feel free to come to me with any suggestions or constructive criticism you might have."  
  
Ada exchanged approving glances with Sebastian, yet at the same time applied a healthy kick to his shin, making him wince. She knew about his crush on Hermione, she always had, but this was their professor they were talking about. This could get him into more trouble than Snape could ever conceive.  
  
~*~  
  
Just to prove his point, Severus Snape gave detention to an unfortunate Hufflepuff for sneezing - on a pricey piece of dragon kidney they needed for their first potion of the year: a potion to protect against the effects of hallucinogens. Some of the class would have been glad to have known of this particular potion earlier, yet none of them was looking forward on testing their brews. Professor Snape had a reputation for having his students test their brews on what they referred to as "moste potente" stuff - potions that proved to have unpleasant side effects if done sloppily. In this case, it was important to make it the right temperature in between adding willow bark and dragon kidney; if it was too hot, the two would cancel each other out and thus render the potion useless. If it was only a tad too cold it would make for a pretty strong hangover.  
  
The rest of the lesson went smoothly enough, and Ri was glad when the lesson - and her hallucinations - were over. She left the dungeons with a mischievous sparkle in her hazel eyes. Snape flying around the dungeons as a raven was almost as good as the story of the Old Bat.  
  
__ 


	15. Boxed Moonlight

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Fifteen  
  
Boxed Moonlight  
  
Tenebrae had made herself comfortable in Hermione's new favourite armchair by the fireplace. In the late afternoon, temperatures had dropped rapidly, so everyone sought the lambent glow of a fire to keep warm. She had her paws curled in beneath her chest, and her head was pillowed softly by a cushion Mrs Granger had given her daughter long ago. It was made of dark blue satin embroidered artfully with three white lilies in different states of bloom - barely open, in all its glory, and weary petals with frayed edges.  
  
She sighed contentedly and squinted against the soft orange light.  
  
When the door opened, the cool draught from the corridor whispered through the fur on her back, and Tenebrae shivered involuntarily. Yet she did not acknowledge her host's presence or announced hers until Hermione's shawl half-covered her back. She purred, grateful for the extra warmth after the cold, haunted corridor.  
  
"Why, hello there," Hermione whispered, mildly surprised. She knelt down in front of the armchair to be at eye-level with the black cat. Something, however, kept her from touching or petting the animal. So instead she tugged at her shawl and drew it a little further up the cat's back. She was rewarded instantly with a deep, guttural sound.  
  
Hermione looked at the cat thoughtfully. Somehow, Tenebrae reminded her a lot of her beloved Crookshanks, and at the same time she had the distinct feeling that Severus' familiar was a very unusual creature. If she was part Kneazle, then her ancestry certainly didn't show. Whatever else her magic was, it was powerful.  
  
"You're not going to reveal your true nature anytime soon, are you?" Hermione sighed.  
  
Tenebrae held her gaze gently as if wanting the woman to read the answer in her eyes. The only answer Tenebrae volunteered was that her stare was not that of any other Muggle cat; it made Hermione shiver, but she didn't know if it was unsettling or comforting.  
  
Hermione rose, shaking her slightly cramping legs, and put her book bag on the chair in front of her desk. Then she shrugged off her robes and tore her shoes off. Returning from the bathroom with her mane tamed, she stopped again at Tenebrae's chair. "So, is Severus still mad at me? Do you reckon he'd like to have a drink with me before tea?"  
  
Tenebrae raised her head, rearranged her front paws, then continued her little nap. Not really an answer.  
  
A couple of minutes later, back in her robes and shoes, Hermione was on her way to the dungeons for lack of any better idea of where to look for Severus. It only occurred to her then that she had not the tiniest inkling of where Severus lived. She certainly knew his workspace - classroom, office and all - but she did not know where he ... lived. Slept, read, relaxed, showered, where he withdrew to be on his own. Maybe, with some luck, he would still be down there, cleaning up whatever mayhem had been created in his orderly world.  
  
Were his rooms anything like the dungeons? Or did he live above ground, where light and air were abundant? When he came to see her in The Garden, she always had the impression that he was comfortable; she dared not say "at ease", and wondered how that reflected on his life.  
  
Humming, she shook her head and knocked at the door of his office.  
  
The door opened a few instants later, by the hand of Severus. He inclined his head a fraction as he saw Hermione, and his lips tightened a bit. "I am not holding office hours now," he said.  
  
Oh dear, Hermione thought.  
  
"Or at any other point of time," Severus continued. "My door is always open, you should know that." He stepped aside so she could walk past him. Which Hermione did not. She stopped in front of him, and touched his good arm, even squeezed it gently.  
  
"I am truly sorry for what I said last night. There is no explanation for my being so rude, and I apolog -" She interrupted herself when she noticed the expression in his eyes. It was brief, nothing more than a fleeting instant, yet it was there, the shudder as he appreciated that she meant it, cared for him in a way that warranted her outburst. She smiled. Oh Severus. "You never told us. About your open-door policy, I mean."  
  
"Well, as far as I know I am not people's first choice to go to for advice," he said, the shudder in his eyes gone. Yet there was a hint of it left, a warmer glow. "Besides, it is my aim to encourage the students to solve their problems on their own and not come running whenever they need their quills sharpened."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Are you coming in, or are we going to talk like this?"  
  
Hermione smiled, a little bit embarrassed. She let go of his arm - had she really been touching him all this time? - and stepped into his office. The last time she had been here had been with Dumbledore's authorisation. She had felt Severus' strong personality in here back then, but now with him actually there ... he certainly did not live here, did he?  
  
"Severus, I -" Hermione began. "I'm really sorry."  
  
He lifted his good hand as if to return the gesture she had bestowed upon him earlier. Yet he lowered it to cradle his arm in the sling. Severus looked at her, not wanting to distract himself by wondering why he would not touch her as easily and freely as she had touched him. Instead, he found sincerity in her soft brown eyes, and his reflection in them. She certainly was not the girl he remembered anymore - or was his memory distorted?  
  
"Ask me again."  
  
"Pardon?" The crease between his eyebrows deepened. Hardly anyone managed to catch him off guard.  
  
Hermione smiled warmly. "What you wanted to ask me last night. Ask again."  
  
For an instant or so, they held each other's gaze, Hermione almost believing she had overstepped the boundaries again, Severus amazed at himself; for he did not mind playing this game.  
  
"I was wondering, Professor Granger," and this time he put all the respect into his addressing her in the manner she deserved, "if you would do me the honour of sharing a glass of whisky with me. Over a little chat, if you like," he added.  
  
"I would love to."  
  
The corners of his mouth twitched. "Very well. Now, I still have some work to do until tea."  
  
"Of course," Hermione grinned. "Actually, there's something I have to do, as well. Preparing lessons."  
  
"You have been preparing lessons for the past two weeks, if I recall correctly."  
  
Hermione smiled at him sweetly, but resisted the temptation to bat her eyelids.  
  
~*~  
  
Standing in the doorway, with her arms crossed, Hermione could not help watching Severus as he made himself familiar with her living room. She had left him alone for a moment to take off her robe and exchange her shoes for a pair of extra thick woollen socks her grandmother had given her. The bottle and the two tumblers Severus had brought along were hovering next to the armchair Tenebrae had occupied earlier that afternoon. He had taken the liberty of fanning the flames and had lighted every single candle in the room; and there were plenty, for Hermione loved the scent of translucent wax and charred wicks.  
  
The light worked magic on his face. His skin was no longer sallow but had a healthy glow to it; also, it was gentle on the lines of his pensive face as he perused the contents of her book cases, and the photographs, Muggle and wizard alike, which she had scattered all over the room.  
  
She deliberately made the floor under her stocking feet creak so as not to startle him, although she had a feeling Severus had been aware of her presence all the time. He turned around, holding a framed Muggle photograph.  
  
"That's my mother," Hermione said as she went to her favourite armchair, picked up her discarded shawl and folded it carefully.  
  
Severus only nodded, not offering a comment at first. Then: "A brilliant woman. I have studied her notes; but then again, she knew what she was looking for, wasn't she?" It wasn't meant to belittle her efforts or findings. Hermione realised that before she could say something. Severus was right (yet again). You had to know what you were looking for to find the magical components. So instead, Hermione made a mental note to give her mother Severus' regards when she next wrote to her.  
  
Of course, Severus had noticed the flicker of thought on Hermione's face. His expression softened a bit. Everything in this room suggested that keeping up guards was quite unnecessary, and without much deliberation he let himself be wrapped in the comfortable atmosphere of the room. He put the picture back, and crossed the room to pour each of them a glass of Ogden's. "Am I right to assume you are a whisky person?"  
  
"You are." Hermione put the carefully folded shawl on the back of her armchair, and sat down, with a leg tucked beneath her. She offered Severus a smile in return for the tumbler. The amber liquid sparkled in the lambent firelight as she swirled it around in the crystal glass, warming it with her hands.  
  
Seated, Severus raised his glass to her. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Hermione."  
  
Hermione still smiled as she enjoyed the drink. In the wake of the liquid, warmth seeped down her throat and spread in her stomach. "Thank you, Severus."  
  
They sat in shared silence for a while.  
  
"Isn't something missing?" Severus asked all of a sudden, his voice a low rumble. "You aren't humming at all."  
  
"Oh," Hermione laughed. She only hummed to shoo away thoughts that made her uncomfortable for some reason (a reason that usually depended on the situation). Right now, she was very comfortable with her thoughts. "That's a tad difficult to explain."  
  
He raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You don't want to hear me singing, believe me. Ask my mirror." Something in her suddenly warmed as she saw the smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "I have something much better," she offered.   
  
Hermione got up and retrieved a small box from the mantelpiece. It was made of cedar wood, its scent of freshly cut wood preserved by a spell. The carvings adorning the box were ornate yet simple, a tasteful mix of leaves and stylised musical instruments. When Hermione opened the lid, silver-blue light filled the immediate space around the box.  
  
Half her face was warmed by the firelight, Severus mused, while the other half was frozen by the light from the box. One half of her face softened, the other half carved out distinctly. For the first time it struck Severus that Hermione was a beautiful woman. Beautiful and brilliant at the same time. He averted his eyes, hopefully casually enough, and studied the contents of his tumbler before taking another sip.  
  
He almost missed Hermione tapping with her wand one of the stars that rose in the silver-blue light. An instant later, soft music filled the room. It was classical in style, but Severus did not recognise it. There were a piano, strings, some wood wind instruments, and drums. The melody was simple, gentle, yet powerful.  
  
"That is the song you have been humming," Severus said. The stars Hermione had not tapped swirled and danced softly in the boxed moonlight, like disorienatted bubbles in a potion. This was the most beautiful thing, Severus decided, he had seen in a long time. And heard.  
  
Apart form Hermione, that was.  
  
"Do you like it?" Hermione positively beamed at the gentleness in his voice. She had never heard him talk like this. Severus did not answer. However, he attempted a smile for her.  
  
Hermione sat again, the box hovering in midair between them.  
  
"Well, aren't you going to tell me everything about this ... music box?" He looked at her inquiringly, half-mocking over the rim of his tumbler. He had nearly finished his drink.  
  
Hermione smiled. The firelight was bringing out dark brown specks in his eyes she hadn't noticed until then. The boxed moonlight, on the other hand, made his other eye as black as ever. Who was this man? She didn't know him any more than she knew Tenebrae - wherever she was.  
  
"I only got it last week," she began, as a premature birthday present, but that she didn't mention. George and Fred Weasley had sent it to her, it was their latest invention, and one that wasn't a joke for once. They had not meant to owl it to her until her birthday, but their pride and excitement had got the better of them. "From the Weasley twins."  
  
"What else does it do? Explode after two songs?" Severus remarked.  
  
Hermione chose to ignore him, fully aware that that was absolutely not what he wanted her to do. But she knew better than to allow him to get at her like this. Obviously, both of them had a weak point, or sore point respectively, for the Weasley twins. "It is a prototype and doesn't have a name yet." And Harry knew all along, but he wouldn't tell me, of course, she added silently, remembering their last meeting. "It's not meant to be a joke."  
  
"Does it play any kind of music?" Severus asked, choosing not to notice the sting in her voice. He opted for putting sincerity into his in return. His attempt at teasing her had failed quite miserably, and the last thing he wanted was her stomping away yet again. Besides, this music box was indeed interesting.  
  
"Yes." Hermione was being more careful now, the excitement in her voice gone.  
  
"It is very ... intriguing," Severus offered. He couldn't bring himself to tell her it was beautiful and brilliant. An invention like this was a wonderful addition to the wizarding world, as it certainly was an improvement on the traditional ways of storing music. He had to admit that the Muggle technique was more advanced in that regard. Without doubt the Weasley twins had taken advantage of their father's affiliation to the Muggle world - and for something useful, for once. "Have you showed the Headmaster yet?"  
  
"You're the first to see here," Hermione said, and held out her tumbler as Severus offered her a refill.  
  
She was getting closer to him by the day. Severus was not sure if he was happy about it or ... afraid of it. Yet, despite himself, he enjoyed the warm rush that found its way down his back. So much better than the whisky's fire.  
  
__ 


	16. Wednesday

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Sixteen  
  
Wednesday  
  
In September the beach lay deserted, even those few Muggles who knew and appreciated the secluded solitude of the dunes remained absent on this Wednesday morning. The wind combed through the sharp blades of beach grass, making them continue the water's rhythmic, tireless motion, at times languorous, at times vigorous. Their rustle and the surf were accentuated by the screeching seabirds. A few clouds chased each other in the clear, crisp autumn sky, the air filled with a mixture of scents: tangy sea and the earthy damp of terra firma.  
  
A couple of seagulls were picking their way through the debris adorning the edge of the water, where the sand changed its colour. Whatever they found between green strands of seaweed and shattered shells they devoured greedily and defended ardently. They were disturbed very suddenly by a soft popping sound in their midst, a sound that soon changed its shape into a short stout man with little hair in oversized robes and a dazzlingly bright hand. The gulls scattered with an angry screech as if deliberating a serious challenge at the glittering man's hand.  
  
Peter Pettigrew heaved a sigh of relief, and deeply inhaled the scent of land that welcomed him. He stomped his feet on the hard, solid sand that squelched softly under his boots, forcing a welcome given as freely as the birds' collective cry. Yet he smiled. After all these months aboard the oilrig he cherished this moment more than a reunion with anything else he had missed in their hideout. And he was going to enjoy every single of the limited amount of moments of it. It was only so much time allotted to him for this mission, both by Lord Voldemort and the effects of Polyjuice Potion. An hour's time was just enough for the task to be accomplished. Yet Peter had been glad about - might have even insisted on - being assigned the job. This needed very careful handling, much depended on it, and he didn't want it endangered. The blunder down at St Mungo's had been a disgrace to their kind. But the Dark Lord had already made sure that this wouldn't happen again.  
  
Also, Peter had needed to feel the comfort of firm soil beneath his feet, as a last treat, so to say, before the winter storms, the heralds of which had already begun to shake and tear at the oilrig.  
  
The short, balding man patted the inner pockets of his dark robes. Both the shrunk parcel and the vial were still there, safely tucked away, close enough to his chest to feel their weight and shape press reassuringly into his ribs.  
  
"Welcome back, Mr Iagosson," Peter murmured, withdrawing the vial from his left breast-pocket. The rich, green potion was luminous in the brightness of the morning, the sunlight catching spring colours in the swirling liquid. He uncorked the vial, and before he put it to his lips, said, as a good-luck charm: "Here's to Picea Parchment."  
  
He thought he'd got used to the sensation of turning into another man's body by then, but he was mistaken, as so oft. The sensation of melting away under a layer of liquid wax that first cooled on his skin and then peeled away as if by a ghost's hand was just like the real thing - only it didn't happen quickly and in one go to make it about tolerable. This ghost certainly did have a sadistic side to him, for he took his time to remove the waxen mould. What was left was Mr Iagosson, a tall, greying man with watery eyes, thin, pale lips and several pounds to spare. The formerly oversized robes fit this new body perfectly. A middle-aged Muggle, formerly bearded and bespectacled, the man - whatever his name had been - had been bound, shaved, his eyesight repaired, and finally killed. Peter didn't want anyone to recognise the dead man, and he kept samples of his hair safely locked away in his quarters.  
  
He opened and closed the stranger's right hand, appreciating the feel of flesh and bones and blood. Having an artificial silver hand wasn't too bad, it saved him a lot of trouble worrying about injuries, but being able to actually feel wasn't bad either. Peter bent and grabbed a handful of cool, beige sand and let it trickle through the fingers.  
  
In the disguise of Iagosson he Apparated to just outside of Hogsmeade, where he restored the parcel sitting in his other breast-pocket to its original size. Peter then slipped into the role of Iagosson, and went jauntily straight to Quills and Quartos. He didn't have much time, and before he entered the shop checked what little of it was left. His pocket-watch gave him almost fifty more minutes.  
  
"Good morning, Mrs Tumsole!" he exclaimed a tad too cheerfully, accompanied by the jingling bells fixed above the door.  
  
"Oh," Mrs Tumsole said, coming forth from behind the till, "so it's Wednesday already." She shook hands with Mr Iagosson, who delighted in the sensation of skin and human warmth in his right hand. He had a firm grip. "Come in, Mr Iagosson. I've already put the kettle on."  
  
Peter had Iagosson beam at the shop-owner, and he didn't have to pretend it all since he always appreciated a cup of tea. Following her to the back room of the shop, he shifted the parcel in his arms. He allowed himself a small Wormtail smile. If everything went well, they'd be able to get the latest news straight from Snape and Granger within the next two days. And the best thing was that they'd never find out about it. Picea Parchment indeed.  
  
~*~  
  
When Hermione noticed that Severus had left the bunch of late lilies on the chair by The Garden's door, he had been gone too long as though there was a chance of catching a last glimpse of his robes in the corridor. The flowers were as beautiful as ever, she was sure of that; most of the buds weren't open yet or shortly before blossoming out. Hermione remembered the scene she had witnessed a few weeks back, and the question after the recipient became interesting again.   
  
Hermione picked the bouquet up and looked at it for a long time. Although she was certain that Severus would come to fetch it soon enough -- he wasn't the forgetful kind of person -- she decided that it was a good idea to water them.  
  
"Accio vase." The empty container zoomed towards her from the top of one bookcase. She put the flowers into it, and just as she was about to fill the vase with water, inspiration struck. She needed to go to Quills and Quartos for some new parchment anyway, so she could take the lilies to the cemetery herself. And maybe have a quick glance at the engraving on the tombstone.  
  
Hermione met Severus in Hogsmeade, or rather, he found her. He was occupying the same bench in front of the cemetery on which she had been sitting at their first encounter. Hermione smiled, and some of the autumn leaves' fire reflected in her cheeks. She sat down next to him, holding the bouquet out for him. "You forgot these."  
  
"And you knew, of course," Severus said, accepting the flowers, "where to find me."  
  
Hermione shrugged.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
The woman sighed. "I must admit I'm a bit curious, too."  
  
Severus made a dramatic gesture. "And there you almost had me disappointed." He was referring to Gryffindor curiosity in general and to that of a certain former trio of students in particular.  
  
"You don't talk about it very often, do you?" She turned a little in her seat, wrapping her robes closer around her. Ever since the first storm after the heat, days had been a lot cooler. Now that it was late in the afternoon, and dusk not long, temperatures were dropping even more rapidly.  
  
Instead of an answer Severus stood, bouquet of lilies carefully tucked into his sling, offering her his good arm. "Not many people bother to ask. Maybe because I don't offer much of an answer that satisfies their curiosity."  
  
Hermione took his arm. Their closeness was very different from that of their daily massage sessions. It was ... something more intimate, definitely not clinical and easily to be explained away by medical necessity. His scent enveloped her in comfortable warmth, and she almost thought of a black hole that sucked in all matter in its immediate proximity. Only Severus' darkness was very welcoming up close, rather than forbidding as it seemed from a distance. He smelled clean, and the spices and herbs of his workroom clung to his robes, for they had discovered long ago his warmth.  
  
As did her scent now. She used a very decent perfume, Severus noted, a gentle smell charming his sensitive nose. And the trust, the immediacy with which she had accepted his offer. That certainly did not stem from her curiosity; this was genuine interest. He pulled her a little closer. Hermione didn't look small, wasn't small as a matter of fact, but she felt small. It had been so long since he'd held a woman last - other than for a quick satisfaction of need, that was, which didn't compare to this at all - that the need to hold her was almost overwhelming.  
  
Before either of them knew it, they were standing in front of the marble stele. Colourful leaves had settled on the ground all around it, as if covering the earth for protection against the elements. The dry weather had made the leaves crisp, and they rustled under their steps, crunched, whispered an invitation to take a long walk. A walk that tempted into shuffling and kicking their feet through the leaves as a last celebration of colour before the uniform grey and brown of winter.  
  
Hermione read the inscription on the stone while Severus exchanged the flowers. Wilted petals that until then had refused to fall off the stem now joined the maple and oak leaves, their silkiness a caress on parched gold and red. "Nora Loredan. 2 June 1959 - 19 September 1980."  
  
"We were to marry that year," Severus trailed his fingers over the inscription.  
  
"Voldemort?" She tried not to think too much about the fact that Nora Loredan had died the very day she had been born. Something made the Dark Lord's name come to mind, rather than the idea of a natural death; maybe it was Nora's young age.  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
He had never forgiven himself for her death, that much Hermione gathered from his silence. Hence the flowers. Did he love her too much as though he could let her go? She didn't dare ask him that. Not then, now that he had opened up a fraction. If she pushed it now she might do more harm than good. Hermione knew Severus well enough by now; she had to leave it up to him to decide when or what to tell her - or encourage her to ask.  
  
Severus touched Nora's name one last time, then he rose to his full height, and drew Hermione up with him. Something within him told him that this was his last visit with the stele. Memories of Nora had never been connected to this place, they had always been with him. The place was more of a place for focusing and meditation. A place he didn't need anymore; not with the woman on his arm. He would treasure Nora for ever, but Severus also knew that she had wanted him to move on with his life. There was no betrayal in that.  
  
"Thank you," he offered Hermione a smile, and drew her a bit closer to him.  
  
She smiled in understanding. "I'm glad it wasn't such a bad idea after all, coming here I mean." Hermione was seriuos, and Severus appreciated for once that she was Gryffindor - there was no trace of egotism in neither her voice nor her eyes. How could there? She didn't know, after all, about the feelings he had developed for her. For Merlin's sake, he himself hadn't known until a couple of minutes ago. Well, he had, of course, but carrying them in the subconscious and admitting them were two different things.  
  
And all thanks to a bouquet of fire-lilies abandoned on a chair in The Garden.  
  
~*~  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Mr Iagosson delivered his parcel, as ordered." The effects of Polyjuice Potion had worn off just as Wormtail had Apparated on the oilrig that morning. Now, shortly before dusk, the Dark Lord had returned from wherever he had been for a full report on his closest henchman's mission. "I put a powerful Irresistible Charm on it. There's practically no way for either Snape or the Mudblood not to buy our special brand."  
  
The dark red eyes flashed like glowing coals in a breeze, and Voldemort hissed in appreciation. "How long until we'll hear from them?"  
  
Peter kneaded his hands, one silver, one flesh. "That's hard to say, my Lord."  
  
"So," Voldemort wheezed, "you didn't think of that!?" He was furious. The plan was perfect - or would have been perfect - if for this small detail. Just like the little plan down at St Mungo's; only this plan mustn't fail.  
  
"Lord, I ..."  
  
"Enough! You will go back and make sure that Snape and his Mudblood use this parchment of yours as soon as possible. We can't afford losing any more vital information."  
  
"As you wish," Peter said, trembling a little, moisture pearling on top of his head.  
  
"Good." Voldemort's calm was deceptive, Peter wasn't fool enough to underestimate him. "Now, once you're done at the castle, I don't want you to return here. This place isn't safe anymore." It was strange anyway that Aurors hadn't come so far. Why hadn't Snape given away the place of their last meeting? Maybe he'd thought it was just that, a meeting place rather than his hideout, and thus hadn't set the Aurors on it. Voldemort bristled. It had been a great risk to stay here for as long as they had.  
  
Peter looked at him expectantly. They had changed hideouts quite often, but this one had been the best place so far - if it weren't for all the water. What place could possibly be better than this oilrig? Voldemort handed him an envelope. "It contains everything you'll need to find us. Aparecium will show you the way."  
  
Wormtail nodded, let the envelope disappear in a hidden pocket inside his robes. He was already at the door, when Voldemort called on him. "Oh, ah Wormtail?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Make sure you wear Muggle clothes."  
  
A sigh of relief and a nod, unaware of the wand drawn underneath the robes. It was too late when he noticed.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
__ 


	17. Wednesday Night

Disclaimer: see Introduction.  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book One  
  
Seventeen  
  
Wednesday Night  
  
The quiet on the heliport platform of the oilrig was deceptive. The dappled sky and relatively calm surface of the water didn't lull Peter into a wrong sense of security, they never had. Not even now, after all these months he'd spent there. Now, Voldemort had practically expelled him, and had Peter had a sense for the dramatic like his lord, he either would have winced at the foreboding of the weather or laughed at it. But he just stood there, gentle breeze tickling his phantom whiskers.  
  
How was he supposed to make Snape and Granger buy Picea Parchment? And how - considering all the Aurors on the loose - was he supposed to remain under cover? Notwithstanding what little was left of Polyjuice Potion, he could hardly live as Iagosson for the whole duration of his mission. Voldemort had found an entirely different way of punishing him. This was worse than the last hit of Cruciatus (which had been a comparatively gentle blow). Now, Peter knew why.  
  
First things first, he thought, and prepared to Disapparate. Often a change of surroundings helped to clear his mind.  
  
~*~  
  
Dear Mum,  
  
do you remember our talk about the Winter Creature? You said that winter days can be beautiful. I see now what you meant. You weren't talking about the obvious beauty of glittering snow and crisp blue skies. There is beauty in the Winter Creature. Until now, he has kept it hidden away very carefully as if to keep it safe, protected. But the other day I clearly saw it, and I guess ...  
  
Hermione's handwriting changed here. The change was subtle, and those who didn't know Hermione's written voice as well as her mother did wouldn't have noticed. Years of exchanging letters with her daughter had taught Mrs Granger not only to read between the lines of her daughter's mind - an avid reader, she knew the fine art of reading thus - but also to pick up changes in the penmanship.  
  
Mrs Granger squeezed the last drops of water and tea out of a teabag and sat down at the kitchen table with her steaming mug of tea and a pain au chocolat. The change in handwriting usually meant that Hermione had taken her time to gather her thoughts, to prepare herself to write something down which until then she hadn't even been able to say.  
  
... and I guess he trusted me enough to show me. You know him, Mum, ...  
  
Not personally, darling. That's the problem.  
  
... so it's not surprising that this whole affair leaves me very unsettled.  
  
I have to admit it: I have feelings for him. These past weeks of working with him have made me see things about him that few people bother to see. But it's different from what Dumbledore et al get to see. You know, today we ended up at the village graveyard, and he told me that he was looking after the memory of his fiancée. I would never have guessed.  
  
You won't believe me if I told you that I saw, for a few instants, something like an offering of peace in his eyes. I have a feeling it was the last time he went to Nora's grave (that's her name, Nora. She died the day I was born, which is kind of spooky, but certainly nothing more than a coincidence.). I don't mean to flatter myself, or lose myself in foolish puppy-love, but ...  
  
(A change in her handwriting.)  
  
... but, Mum, I think we're about to fall in love with each other.  
  
There, I did it. It's off my chest now. And you know what? I don't think we're falling in love with each other. I know it. At least I do.  
  
Mrs Granger smiled. She had seen it coming. She sipped at her scalding tea and reread the last couple of lines. There had been a suspicion in the back of her head, but just like her daughter, she hadn't paid any attention to it. A mother's instincts weren't always right, and she wanted to save Hermione and herself the embarrassment of addressing this suspicion just to find out that she was utterly wrong.  
  
"As long as you're happy, darling," she murmured. Mrs Granger didn't know Professor Snape personally. The way Hermione talked about him had changed in the past weeks, however, and she thought that the Potions Master wasn't all that bad underneath those black robes of his as he appeared - or pretended - to be. She knew he was about her own age which on the one hand didn't make her very happy - he could be her very own brother! - but on the other hand an inner voice reassured her that a man his age was less likely to not being a gentleman. Snape didn't seem to be of the sort to decorate himself with the trophy of a girlfriend the age of one of his peers' daughters.  
  
Mrs Granger finished reading the letter which had come inside a small parcel. Perrine had also brought a pot of rhubarb-and-vanilla jam from the Hogwarts kitchens. "The very best on Earth." At least that was what Hermione had scribbled on the label next to what must be one of the house-elves' handwriting. Since the letters weren't moving, Mrs Granger was certain that Hermione had made both the pot and label Muggle-proof. No offence, as always. Really no offence.  
  
Rhubarb-and-vanilla jam, and her daughter was in love -for the first time seriously. Viktor Krum had been a "foolish puppy-love"; Hermione had said so herself.  
  
Mrs Granger smiled, and had some more tea.  
  
~*~  
  
The contents of the vial was roughly enough to provide him with three and a half hours of Iagosson's physique. Everybody in and around Hogsmeade would recognise him in both his human and animal body. It was only a matter of hours or less until the Aurors found him. There was no way for him to refill his supply of Polyjuice Potion: he lacked ingredients as well as time and workspace. He could not hide in any of their old lairs since every last one of them had been discovered by the Ministry, and the probability of their being monitored was high - even if so only at random. The temptation of looking at the envelope's contents was high, but Voldemort wouldn't have him there until the Picea Parchment lay on Snape's and Granger's desks.  
  
There was nowhere for Peter to go until he had made a plan. And that he needed quickly, he could hardly stay on the beach forever, even with protective wards against the unleashed powers of an autumnal storm. Sooner or later some lone wanderer or someone taking their dog for walkies would discover him. So he needed a plan quickly.  
  
The castle itself was the safest place in the British wizarding world; even for a silver-pawed rat, chances of infiltrating Hogwarts were zero. Consequently, what he needed was a messenger, someone reliable who would take the paper into the castle, to Snape and Granger ideally, someone who had no idea about the finer qualities of the paper. McGonagall would only become suspicious if offered another stack of paper or asked to promote it with Snape and Granger.  
  
A student. He could ask a student to take a complimentary stack of paper to their teacher.  
  
Why hadn't he thought of that option earlier? He was becoming sloppy, Peter realised. A shiver went through him. Voldemort was right. This poor quality of work and unreliability couldn't be tolerated.  
  
Three hours - he deducted half an hour to be on the safe side - should be plenty of time to find a student and have them take the paper to their victims. The problem was it was Wednesday, and pupils were allowed to Hogsmeade only on weekends - and then not even every weekend, but only monthly. Peter had no idea when the next Hogsmeade weekend was scheduled.  
  
If luck was tough, he had just missed such a weekend. In this case, he could hardly wait another two months or so until the next Hogsmeade weekend. Voldemort would kill him. As much as he dreaded his possible findings, he had to find out. It would cost him half an hour's time of what little was left of Iagosson's life, but it was worth it. Who knew, maybe he was lucky.   
  
~*~  
  
"Miss Tumsole!"  
  
A generous amount of adrenaline flooded Ri's abdomen as she heard the silken smoothness of her teacher's voice call on her. She strengthened her grip around her book-bag and wondered what she had done to deserve the questionable honour of being addressed by Slytherin's Head of House. She turned around and faced Snape. Professor Snape.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
His voice had almost a nice tone, but Ri remained alert, when he asked: "When are you going to be at your mother's?"  
  
A shipment of books had arrived from a Muggle publisher, and Ri had planned on picking it up that very night. She was running a book-club on Thursday nights. This semester she had decided to do some fun reading to counterbalance all the books they had to read in preparation for exams. The younger club-members had been only too happy to join in. Quite a few of them were frequently in touch with the Muggle world for various reasons, so everybody should be able to contribute to "The Concepts of the Wizarding World in Muggle Literature".  
  
"Professor Flitwick has allowed me to go tonight." Ri was careful to mention her Head's name to ward off any problems or second thoughts the Slytherin might have.  
  
"I was wondering if you could bring me some fresh parchment," Snape said. He sensed the girl's uneasiness and attempted a particularly neutral tone and some grammatical courtesy. "I forg ... I didn't have the time to pick it up this afternoon."  
  
Relief replaced the adrenaline in Henrietta's stomach. "Of course, sir."  
  
"Very well." Snape produced some coins from his coat pocket, and let them drop on Ri's open palm one by one. "If this isn't enough, kindly credit it to me. It's a special order for Professor Granger and me."  
  
Ri merely nodded, carefully pocketed the money, and excused herself.  
  
Snape allowed himself to look after her gently flapping robes' tails. Then he shook his head. He had to be an authority, but until then he hadn't realised that he was a nasty authority even when he was just being himself, out of class and not on one of his nocturnal patrols.  
  
He sighed, turning his smile inward. What a bunch of lilies could do to you.  
  
~*~  
  
The girl was recognisable as a Hogwarts student easily enough. The Ravenclaw coat of arms was embroidered on her black robe, but the silver and blue scarf wrapped carelessly around her neck was what gave her away. Peter could hardly believe his luck. He had been waiting for a couple of minutes only, minutes in which he would never have believed that his daring would pay off so soon. As the girl crossed the village square, hands buried in the pockets of her robes, he left the shelter of the shadows and went straight towards her.  
  
She stopped when he called on her, and he noticed with an inward smile that her hand instinctively felt for the wand in her pocket. Peter could hardly take it amiss. He wouldn't trust anyone either; he himself included.  
  
"Excuse me, Miss!"  
  
The girl eyed him warily. Then she seemed to recognise him in the half-light of early evening. It was a good thing that he had shown up in Tumsole's shop several times. She'd probably seen him there. Of course he couldn't know that the girl was Mrs Tumsole's daughter, and he would never know.  
  
"Yes?" Her voice was as wary and careful as the tension in her body and the suspicious twinkling in her eyes. Peter knew there was no way of convincing her of his good intentions, at least concerning her safety. Nevertheless, he switched into his most cheerful Iagosson-mode.  
  
"I'm with a parchment manufacturer down South, and I've got some free samples of our finest parchment for two of your professors," he began.  
  
The girl was still wary of him.  
  
"You are with Hogwarts, aren't you?"  
  
The girl nodded.  
  
"Would you mind taking these two boxes to Professors Granger and Snape? I promised to bring them, but ... matters got complicated, and now I don't have time enough to go up to the castle without missing an important appointment. I was wondering if it's too much asking ...?" He held out two shrunk boxes of parchment to her.  
  
The girl sighed as if this wasn't the only errant she was running for other people. So she might as well accept the two small parcels. "All right."  
  
"That's very kind of you, thank you so much."  
  
Peter could hardly believe his luck. His first walk of reconnoitring into the village had been merited with a complete success. Placing the paper in the care of the student had rid him of all his problems in a matter of minutes. The girl, a seventh-year presumably, seemed honest and reliable enough. What else could he do but rely on her?  
  
"It's nothing, really," she sighed. "Good evening, sir."  
  
"Good evening, miss. And my regards to your teachers."  
  
"And you are ...?" she asked.  
  
"Mr Iagosson."  
  
"Right. If you'll excuse me?"  
  
Peter smiled a friendly smile at her. This day had a better ending than expected. He melted back into the shadows once the girl was well on her way, just in time for the last of the sunlight to catch in his silver hand. Seconds later, a soft popping sound echoed in the deserted alley between The Three Broomsticks and Zonko's.  
  
The sound was followed by empty bottles clattering to the floor when a cat - a surprisingly clumsy cat - jumped from behind a crate with Bertie Bott's Best Butterbeer stencilled on it in letters that kept rearranging themselves.  
  
The cat ran swiftly after the girl, but kept to the shadows.  
  
__ 


	18. Mortar and Pestle

Disclaimer: see Introduction   
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
One  
  
Mortar and Pestle  
  
The school's book club met in one of the studies on the Third Floor. At the beginning, the location rather than the nature and philosophy of the club had attracted students. Despite her initial disappointment at the rapidly diminishing numbers of members, Henrietta Tumsole had tried - successfully so - to accept Professor Flitwick's and her mother's advice; those dropping out of the club were not to be mourned for because of their comparatively mundane reason for joining. Ri then saw their point and was ever so grateful for those few who stayed, and who were eager to discuss the novels.  
  
Ri neatly piled five books for each participant and added a scroll with light homework and topics for discussion and short paragraphs. She was well aware of the extra work that she had in store for her fellow students, but all of the members had worked very hard so far - despite their usual workload. And this was going to be fun, so the work she had prepared was easier to be accomplished than before. Muggles had the funniest concepts of magic - so far so good, that was nothing special. But magic in their literature was priceless in most cases - and these she had selected for further study.  
  
"Miss Tumsole?"  
  
Ri, slightly startled, turned around. The head of Gryffindor was standing in the doorframe. McGonagall looked as stern as ever, but Ri knew her well enough to notice the kindness in her eyes. At the moment, her green eyes were sparkling warmly. "Am I interrupting anything?"  
  
"Not at all, Professor. Do come in," Ri said, and turned to the stove on which the kettle sat, the water in its rounded belly still hot enough to provide a palatable drink. McGonagall accepted the mug gratefully. "Are you all right?" Their meeting seemed informal enough to warrant the returning of the gesture.  
  
"I'm a little bit worried about your walks down to Hogsmeade. Professor Flitwick tells me you always check out and back in with him, but -" a rare sigh. Ri wasn't sure if she was in trouble. McGonagall had just commended her diligence, hadn't she?  
  
For Minerva, the problem was elsewhere. The scene in Hogsmeade had left her slightly unsettled, although - or maybe even though - nothing had happened. This time. Maybe it was a wild-goose chase, but not all strangers meant well, particularly in these days. "I have arranged for your fireplace to be connected to the Floo network. You can travel to your mother's only, and I still expect you to keep Professor Flitwick informed about its use."  
  
"Oh." Ri was at a loss for words. No one, except the teachers, travelled to Hogwarts via the Floo network. Firstly, this was an honour, secondly, something was amiss - and thirdly, she needed to keep this a secret.  
  
"Of course we need your assurance of your discretion in this matter," McGonagall continued, gravely again.  
  
"Of course. You can trust me, Professor."  
  
Relief was plainly written over McGonagall's ageing beauty. "Excellent, we expected nothing less from you. Now," she leaned forward in her armchair and sipped her tea. "On a more cheerful note, I have talked to Professor Dumbledore regarding your book club."  
  
A nod from Ri to assure her teacher of her undivided attention. "We heard that its members invest more work - academic work - and time into the club than necessary."  
  
Ri coloured. "I know, but if there are any complaints ... they enjoy it and benefit greatly from it. But if their work for class suffers from it, I won't hand out any assignments anymore, of course."  
  
"Oh but that's not the problem, Miss Tumsole, quite on the contrary, in fact." Minerva finished her tea. There was no doubt about the reliability of this girl. She was more than just a Ravenclaw. "We find that their voluntary extra work doesn't hurt them at all, and that they ought to be rewarded for it. Thus we would appreciate it if you could arrange for your work to be published at the end of the school year in any way you deem fit. You'll get all the support you'll need from Madam Pince." Minerva paused to let the news sink in. The girl seemed very surprised and honoured, and Minerva relieved her of her awkward feelings with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Your work will be credited, of course, in your reports. We thought of handling this as your project. I realise it's time for choosing this term's projects, and I'd like you to offer the book club as a project to any seventh years participating - under the usual conditions, of course."  
  
Ri made a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know what to say. Thank you, that's very generous."  
  
Again, a dismissive gesture, then McGonagall asked Ri that she tell her about this year's work. The scroll with assignments and homework would have to be revised, but Ri happily told the Head of Gryffindor anything she wanted to know about their work.  
  
~*~  
  
There were good and bad dinners with gradual steps of judging in between - which depended on the atmosphere rather than the quality of the meal (which was always good; with the sole exception of pannacotta, Severus' favourite pudding, but it wasn't served too often anyway). An example for a worst-case scenario dinner was displaying itself that very night, the evening of 18 September; this year, the date didn't remind Severus of Nora in a melancholic way, so he was pensive but not too depressed. His mood did of course not go unnoticed with the staff at the High Table. Dumbledore and McGonagall smiled softly at him, Maggie Hooch padded his hand, and Hermione nodded at him.  
  
An additional plate had been laid out, and before Severus could inquire after the guest, a colourful, tinkling cloud of heavy perfume settled in the spare chair.  
  
It was Sybill Trelawney.  
  
In the blink of an eye, the dinner turned from an expected good into an abysmal worst-case beyond comparison.  
  
The others at the table must have noticed the change in his demeanour, or rather - "Don't flatter yourself, Severus!" - their indignation at the unexpected guest was as huge as his; with the sole difference in their good behaviour. Severus' self-imposed quasi-exile had not really improved his communication skills - verbal as well as non-verbal.  
  
Professor Trelawney's presence did of course not go unnoticed with the rest of the Great Hall. A strange silence settled in the full hall, whispers of awe and astonishment soon dying down into a rare silence. It just wasn't like Professor Trelawney to turn up for tea in the Great Hall.  
  
Severus was mad at himself once he had recovered from his shock. Always expect the unexpected, especially in times like this. He sipped his cider to regain his composure. Why should a person like Sybill Trelawney affect him so - him, Severus Snape, of all people?  
  
The skin in his nape prickled. His sixth sense told him that he was being watched. As he tore his eyes from his fingers, which were absentmindedly counting the tines of his fork, he looked straight into Sybill Trelawney's eyes, which were enormously magnified by her thick glasses. It suddenly struck him that the woman was probably almost blind without her spectacles. "What?" He sounded less irritated than he had intended to be.  
  
"I was wondering how Tenebrae is doing?" She sounded perfectly conversational. From the corner of his eye Snape was aware of Hermione's puzzled expression. Sybill must be, too, for she suddenly turned her attention towards Hogwarts' youngest professor. "Her kind ought to be trusted and cared for well. If they deem you worthy of their affection, that is. Did you know tha-"  
  
"Her kind?" Hermione put down her fork.  
  
"Well, cats."  
  
"So she's not an Animagus?" Hermione probed. Trust her not to stop ere the satisfaction of her curiosity.  
  
"She quite definitely isn't." Sybill was still being reserved towards Hermione. Probably because she hadn't seen herself on the bottom of her kitschy, dainty little teacup making peace with her former student-for-one-lesson. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"  
  
Severus, who had just taken the first bite of his dinner, almost choked on a bit of croquette.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Not all presents are altruistic, but you know that, dear, don't you?"  
  
That was enough. "Don't quibble, Sybill!" Severus snapped.  
  
The High Table went quiet. "I'll do my best, Professor," Hermione eventually said, and that ended the uncomfortable pause.  
  
"Really, Sybill."  
  
"Severus, you of all people-"  
  
"Tell me, professor, how are things up in the North Tower? Any promising people of your kind among the new classes?" Minerva, sensing disaster, quickly drew the Sybill's attention on her. It was a self-sacrifice, and Severus was very grateful for the Gryffindor's impeccable sense of tact. He'd have to make up with Minerva for the unending quibbling. He tucked in, suddenly feeling ravenous.  
  
~*~  
  
Later, Hermione found him down in the dungeons, studiously bent over several scrolls of The Tempest rolled out around him. The kettle was whistling frantically, but Severus was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't even notice Hermione taking the kettle off the fire and preparing a second mug of tea for herself.  
  
She woke him with her hand on his shoulder, literally shaking him awake. He jerked, then looked at her as if she were a stranger. "Hermione."  
  
"I heard the kettle."  
  
"From up at Gryffindor Tower."  
  
Hermione sat, wrapping her hands around the hot mug. "I was worried."  
  
"About me?" Severus rolled up the scroll, fastened the locking spell and chose a new scroll, a 1979 issue of The Tempest.  
  
"Well, it'd be a shame if everything were broken because of a neglected kettle. Some of the stuff down here looks like you could actually find it useful. Some day."  
  
Severus snorted.  
  
"I was wondering about what Professor Trelawney said at dinner, and how you were ... you know, it's the nineteenth tomorrow, and I thought -"  
  
"- a little too much, Ms Granger, don't you think?" He carefully sipped at his drink. "No offence. I'm fine, and besides, we've got work to do. My arm isn't going to get any better out of its own accord. And I doubt that the venom will be stopped for ever."  
  
"Any chance I can help?"  
  
"I think you've done enough."  
  
Was it just her, or was it getting chillier down here? How came the sudden change in his mood? Hermione was fairly certain that she hadn't done anything wrong. "I'd like to do something, though."  
  
"Just leave."  
  
Hermione stood silent only for a blink of an eye, but it was enough to irritate the good professor. "Leave. Go!" Severus rose suddenly, and with an uncontrolled movement of his bad arm sent flying a glass mortar and pestle which sat behind him on a small table. Mortar and pestle shattered into a thousand little pieces on the stone floor of Snape's office.  
  
Hermione left, the cold stare of the Winter Creature sending shivers down her spine.  
  
__ 


	19. Love Potions

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Two  
  
Love Potions  
  
Twenty-three years.  
  
Severus stared into the depths of his tumbler of Scotch. The amber liquid swirled around were's and might-have-been's. This was the hour of the day when dreams and reality were so tightly interwoven that it was hard to make out truth - this very subjective, fickle concept. He turned away from the window and the autumnal landscape outside, swallowed the remainder of Ogden's, and chose to embrace the present and future.   
  
Only, he had managed to drive away a quite substantial part of it. Again and again, he said and did things that hurt Hermione, and again and again she accepted his apologies - which always were sincere and heartfelt. But he could not trust her patience to be endless, and he could not blame her for the end of it, either. Sometimes he wondered why she put up with him anyway. It could not just be Gryffindor honour and the challenge of a riddle to solve.  
  
A riddle.  
  
A Riddle?  
  
Damn that man.  
  
Trust him to come up with a riddle like that of Nagini's venom.  
  
Severus sat back down again at his desk. He had not looked at his papers since a house-elf had come to remove the shards of yet another memory. The broken mortar and pestle had meant a lot to him; they, too, were a present of Nora's. She had brought them back from a renown crystal glass manufacturing town in Germany, whose wizarding society had supplied the rest of the wizarding world with its craft since forever. But that was not the point.  
  
Rather more disturbing was a change in his bad hand and forearm. He had not intentionally swept mortar and pestle off his desk. Nagini's venom was taking yet another toll, but that was something that did not need mentioning. Must not be mentioned, as a matter of fact, too much was at stake here. Besides, the change had been momentary, and it had been gone almost before he had had a chance to even realise it. It had not been a surprise. Severus had half expected it to happen, but had until now chosen to ignore this prospect. He knew very well that this was quite a risk he was taking, but he had no other choice.  
  
He sighed and picked up the parchment, put it back down an instant later. He had to talk to Hermione. He knew that if he did not go to her now, their friendship would end before it even had had a chance to evolve. Hadn't Sybill Trelawney mentioned something about Hermione's birthday the following day? Severus retrieved his pocket watch, and lo, it had been twenty-three years since Nora was dead - and Hermione was born. When he went to Hermione now, he could hardly go to her empty-handed.  
  
He picked a book from one of his shelves and blew the dust off its top. Then he checked the spine - he knew his library well enough not to have to read the spines to pick the book he needed. It was a book of his great-grandmother's, one of the few that had survived the past troubled centuries. iChocolate - A Collection for the Culinary Connoisseur/i contained what he needed. Chocolate was comfort food, everyone knew that. Now, what he needed was ...  
  
~*~  
  
"... love-in-idleness," Dennis finished.  
  
"Well, sounds easy enough, only I've heard it's a good idea to add some lily essence to make sure the love spell is only temporary," Ada added. The four of them were sitting on Dennis' bed, enjoying their nightcaps: hot chocolate spiked with something-or-other Ada's grandfather had distilled in the darkness of Iceland's winter. They had bewitched a harp and a flute to play some soft music by The Weird Sisters.  
  
"I dunno," Ri hesitated, the spiked chocolate weighing down her tongue, "maybe this isn't such a good idea after all."  
  
"Why, is there anything we should know?" Sebastian sniggered.  
  
"Don't worry, lily essence is safe enough, Ri," Ada repeated.  
  
"Oh, darn. Okay, all right."  
  
"Wouldn't it be cool, though, to see if ... I mean, have you ever wondered about any other love affairs at Hogwarts?" Dennis wondered.  
  
"You're gross!"  
  
"Ugh, just imagine McGonagall ..." The quartet giggled and squealed with delight as they fancied love-matches among the teaching staff, one more ridiculous than the other in order to outdo each other. At first they had only meant to browse love potions for fun, maybe to try one or the other harmless one. Each of them knew how powerful and dangerous this kind of magic was; Snape had reminded them time and again, of course, and then there had been enough accidents to last a long night of storytelling. Until suddenly it grew very serious when someone suggested trying Dennis' and Ada's love potion.  
  
"We can't do that!" Ri protested.  
  
"Oh come on! It's just for two hours or so."  
  
"No one will notice what happened until it's too late."  
  
"Sure, if you want to do a practical beginner's course in archaeology. No, thanks, I don't care about cleaning trophies with my toothbrush."  
  
"You're just afraid of Snape actually setting an eye on you." Again, they erupted in violent laughter, until, very suddenly, they were silenced by a sharp knock on the door. It opened, and in came tiny Professor Flitwick. The ghost of a smile betrayed his stern demeanour, but the Charms teacher was respected and beloved enough to send the four to their respective beds. A Thursday night - or rather early Friday - was not a good time for a party, particularly since there was no occasion for it.  
  
What he could not silence, however, was the shaping of an idea in three bright minds. Getting back at Professor Snape was a seldom enough chance they got - so why waste it?  
  
~*~  
  
A bleary-eyed Hermione had opened the door for him, and now, sitting in her armchair in front of the rekindled fire in her living-room, she still looked tired. The steaming mug of cocoa floating next to her had so far not had the power of wakening her spirits.  
  
"Severus, it's -" Hermione began, drawing her shawl closer around her. She always left it lying there for her new regular visitor. But now Tenebrae was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"I know it's late - or rather early," Severus interrupted.  
  
"You're not having a sudden bolt of inspiration, are you?" She gingerly picked up the mug and blew the steam into shreds. A distinct peppery scent wafted up from its centre. "What is this anyway?"  
  
"It's a special recipe. I thought some comfort food might help to apologise," Severus said. "That's why it took me so long. Happy birthday, Hermione." He sat stock still in his chair, his right hand holding his left wrist, as it had become his custom. The scene wanted for an ebony walking stick with a silver, serpent-headed knob leaning against the armrest.  
  
"Thanks," Hermione said groggily, and then sipped carefully at the drink. The pepper was very evident to her taste-buds, but just as strong was the bittersweet of chocolate, and the hint of rum. "What is this, anyway?"  
  
"It's an old recipe, never mind."  
  
"So?" She did not mean to be rude, but sleep was something she was only too glad to surrender to right now. "Severus, I'm not mad at you. I know what day it is."  
  
"I would be glad if you had your breakfast with me."  
  
Hermione blinked. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
Severus blinked. "Oh! Oh, no, I mean after you got a good night's sleep. Alone, of course. I just - forgive me." Thus spoken, he stood, leaving the imaginary walking stick where it was, and left her as suddenly as he had appeared.  
  
If it had not been for the warmth of the hot chocolate spreading in her body, Hermione would not have believed this strange, nocturnal scene. This special recipe was something. He had been right, though -  
  
"Happy birthday, Hermione," she toasted herself.  
  
"Happy birthday, Hermione!" echoed her mirror.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus had a house-elf show Hermione the way to his rooms. He obviously entertained good connections with these little people, for as soon as she had been ready to leave her rooms for breakfast, the tinkling of a bell had announced the arrival of the house-elf. On the way to the Dungeons, Hermione once again wondered about his rooms. Once again, she found she could not imagine how or where Severus lived, unless she believed school legends - which she had always found rather ridiculous; iHogwarts - A Histor/iy had never supported the various theories of rooms like those in the rumours. And on top of it all, he had meant it. The memory of his nocturnal visit still struck her as little less than surreal.  
  
"Here is Professor Snape's home," the house-elf announced. Hermione had not really noticed where she had been going, lost in thought as she had been. She realised that they were not far from the roof-top cloister where they had dined this last summer.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Can Millie go now, miss?"  
  
"Yes, thank you."  
  
The doorplate read Nora Loredan. No wonder no one who had no business finding Snape's rooms ever actually did so. She rang the doorbell, and took a step back, heart beating faster now.   
  
"Ah! Do come in." Severus bade her enter with a flourish.  
  
"I had no idea you actually ..." Hermione began as she entered his rooms. They were surprisingly airy, the cloistered vaults relatively bright in the wake of the receding dawn light. Snape's immense windows opened to the west and to the north, providing good light at all hours of the day. A robust colonial-style table with an assortment of chairs stood in front of the window closest to the fireplace, and there was enough food for how many people? Four? Six?  
  
"Are you expecting anyone else?" was the first thing that came to mind.  
  
"No."  
  
Just as she had imagined, the walls were covered with books from floor to ceiling, and on yet another colonial-style table were heaped and stacked even more books. A mobile ladder made access to loftier heights of the library possible, and three armchairs invited to sit and browse and read.  
  
"Please, have a seat," Severus woke her, "you might as well have a look around from over at the window."  
  
Hermione coloured a little, then followed his invitation.  
  
"Oh, I never imagined you had non-magical paintings."  
  
"Very few do."  
  
"Sorry for underestimating you. I of all people should know better than that."  
  
His raised eyebrow spared him the rhetoric question. "Well, I believe we have had that topic already. Tea?"  
  
Hermione nodded.   
  
"So, do you like the paintings?"  
  
"Yes. It's so good to look at a picture that gives the eye a rest for once."  
  
"That is certainly true. Toast or brioche?"  
  
"Severus! Stop," Hermione slowed his industrious hospitality down with a calming gesture. "Relax. I'm not the Minister of Magic."  
  
After that, the breakfast continued more relaxed, yet animated by two bright minds talking shop and tossing ideas to and fro. Severus gave Hermione a synopsis of about every article he had read in past issues of iThe Tempes/it, asking her opinion on them. Most of them were not related to their problem at all, and when they discussed those, the mood grew even more productive and inspiring. The problem of Nagini's venom weighed heavily on their inspiration, and the feeling of being in a mental cul-de-sac did not help in the least bit.  
  
"Maybe we should have a look at my mother's chemical analysis again."  
  
"We've been there." Severus finished his brioche.  
  
"There must be something, though. A little something we have not considered hard enough yet."  
  
"Be that as it may, Hermione, our lessons are not going to wait for us." He gestured at a clock on the mantelpiece next to them, and they discovered that they had about ten minutes left until their respective lessons started. Had they not been the last two lessons before lunch break, they would not have had the chance to sit and for as long as they had.  
  
What a good start into the day - and into a new year - this had been, particularly after the abysmally bad ending of the previous day.  
  
__ 


	20. Hallowe'en

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Three  
  
Hallowe'en  
  
During the weeks to follow classes demanded the better part of their time, and what was left for research often ended in disappointment, resignation, and the occasional burst of temper. It was an emotional magic-carpet ride that left its marks, and regardless of the copious offers of help their mood and morale sank.  
  
"There is something we overlook, I'm fairly certain."  
  
"Hermione, I cannot find the missing link either."  
  
Many of their conversations went like this, and ere long, weeks had elapsed. Hallowe'en was approaching, and with it autumn break. Most of the students stayed at the school, however. A visit to Hogsmeade was scheduled, along with special study assignments, projects, and Quidditch training, of course. There was, however - according to Severus and Mr Filch -, enough time for them left to get into mischief - the Hallowe'en party in general as well as in particular.  
  
"Maybe," Hermione mused, losing herself in one of Nora's paintings, "the Hallowe'en party will help us."  
  
"How is that?" Severus sneered from within the recesses of his library armchair. Hallowe'en as such was not so bad. The party with all those high-flaring hormones, spiked drinks, and broken hearts was exhausting rather than exciting. It was not that Severus did not enjoy parties at all; there was nothing he did not like about a dance, a drink, and a laugh. But his role as a teacher demanded that he keep his students out of harm's way as far as possible, which naturally took its toll on his personal enjoyment. Well, until the teachers' party began, that was.  
  
"It gives us a break. We really ought to take next week's break seriously and not try to find a solution." Hermione joined him in his corner and squatted next to his armchair. "Let's take long walks, maybe go down to Diagon Alley for a day. It's been quiet, and trust me, the solution to this problem does not find itself out of its own accord."  
  
"And miss out on all this?" Severus made a sweeping gesture with his good arm. He sat silent for a while, enjoying Hermione's fingers kneading his arm. This had become a very natural thing for her to do and for him to accept, a welcome intimacy and a most pleasant routine. "You know, maybe you are right." He stood, went to the little niche at his fireplace, and refilled his mug with the remainder of the tea Hermione had made earlier. "Then again," he resumed his musings, "there is something that won't leave me alone. Voldemort has us solve the problem of finding an antidote - but how does he know about our progress?"  
  
"Or lack thereof," Hermione added, reminiscent of a similar conversation they had had weeks ago. "We've had the Aurors over for tea, as you certainly remember."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"The fact is, there is a mole, a very clever mole, among us."  
  
"And he has been reporting our every step so far. See, Hermione, that is exactly what troubles me. What if Voldemort runs out of patience? - which is, by the way, very likely after as long a waiting time as this?" He sat in his armchair again.  
  
"A red herring."  
  
Silence.  
  
"No. He won't buy it."  
  
"Only if he has a mole capable of discovering it for what it is. Which is, if I may say so, highly unlikely - why would he have us do the job if he had someone with brains enough to find the antidote? No, Severus. We'll simply have to take a chance there." Hermione pushed aside a stack of books and sat on the table. Severus winced a bit at this. He still was not used to people sitting on his working table.  
  
Maybe this will give us a chance to discover the mole, if such a person exists, he thought, and drained his mug.  
  
~*~  
  
On the Third Floor, the quartet met in Ada's room in preparation of the Hallowe'en party. 'Operation Love Potion No 9' needed preparing well lest they spend the autumn break with Filch and Mrs Norris. Already, they had outlined a plan, all they needed now was a way to make sure the potion's master could not be identified. This alone was tricky enough, but the challenge they faced was deceiving one of the best Potions Masters in the country. Ada had sent for a book of hers which she knew to contain an ancient spell that erased any trace of the potion's master. Ri, who had been sceptical at first was soon won over. Every potion bore traces of its master and their wand which could be detected easily enough; besides, foreign spells were even easier to find. Potio Fumosa did not only remove the personality in a potion, but erased itself like aroma evaporating. As such, it was a very powerful spell only few knew.  
  
"Where do you get a book like that?" Dennis asked wide-eyed. His gaze was fixed on the slim book - a pamphlet rather - on Ada's desk. It looked innocent enough, but considering it contained a spell like Potio Fumosa - just imagine!  
  
Ada shrugged. "My grandfather's attic."  
  
"Oh, come on! That's so cliché!"  
  
"Cliché or not, that's where I found it. So, do we use it or not?"  
  
"Even if Snape knew the spell he could still not tell who cast it, did I get that right?" Ri asked.  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
Ri was silent for a while. "Still, I don't like it."  
  
"Why? No one will find out. Ever," Dennis argued.  
  
"Well, for starters, love potions are verboten at Hogwarts," Ri began, "and secondly: that book of yours is grey magic, to say the least."  
  
"Send in the Dementors!" Ada made a dramatic gesture. "Get a grip, Ri, no one will ever find out."  
  
"I don't know what you're speaking of. I'm off to bed," she decided, and stood.  
  
The rest of the quartet looked at each other incredulously, then Sebastian said: "Is that your last word?"   
  
Ri nodded.  
  
"You don't know anything about our plan?" Dennis.  
  
"What plan? Sweet dreams." And off she was, sweeping out of the room in quite a familiar fashion. They looked at each other, and burst into laughter.  
  
~*~  
  
Finally, Hallowe'en had arrived, and with it shining pumpkin faces, thousands of floating candles, and the House Ghosts were in a particular spooky mood. Even Sir Nicholas, who had decided not to celebrate his Deathday party this year. There had been some incident, but know one knew anything for sure. The Great Hall had been decorated with the usual paraphernalia, and the most delicious scents were wafting through the corridors and halls of the castle, heralding a feast such as to rival Christmas - well, almost, that was. The four, long tables had been divided up into units of four in order to clear some space for the dancing.  
  
Already, students were filing in alone or in small groups, dressed in fancy robes and in the best of moods. Severus was standing at one of the immense fire-places, half of his face furiously red from the fire crackling and licking away at logs. His arm still in the sling did not diminish his dignity. His stern gaze earned as much respect - and sometimes even fear - as ever. Only the brave ones, or those lucky enough not to be noticed in a careless moment, saw the sparkle in his dark eyes that betrayed his true feelings about the entire affair. And for a second they almost - just almost - thought that maybe even Severus Snape, Order of Old Bats, First Class, did have a heart after all. Little did they know that there were three among them intent on proving just that.  
  
Ri joined them at their table, of course. Everyone sat with their friends that night, friends they did not necessarily have in their own house. She smiled at her friends, but did not do or say anything regarding the love potion. She had, after all, chosen to be innocent.  
  
The evening naturally started with a feast such as they had not had since the start of school, and was followed by the much-expected dance. It was less formal than the Yule Ball just before Christmas; the dancers moved individually rather than in pairs. The excitement of asking for a date was just too much as though it could be handled thrice a year; hormones were hard enough to handle as it was, the teachers had decided.  
  
They were alert the whole night, some of them watching their students more carefully than others. On the other hand, some of the teachers were being watched, be it out of fear, or out of entirely different reasons.  
  
So, eventually, Hermione passed the table of the quartet. Preparations put in order, Sebastian had taken Ri off for a dance. Dennis bade Hermione sit and share a drink with them. She was a favourite of the students' among the staff, and she accepted. The relationship she had with the seventh years was mature and, in their free time, relaxed. However, so as not to offend anyone, she left their table a couple of minutes later, when the dancers returned.  
  
A little while later, fireworks launched themselves from several people's eyes and exploded into sparkling stars, flowers, and hearts of all colours - above the heads of those they loved. To everyone's surprise, some of the lights exploded above the Potions Master's head. They originated from the Arithmancy Professor's eyes. On top of it all, every person had their own colour of fireworks; their essence was in it just like it would be in Polyjuice Potion. Hermione's was a luminous crimson with chocolate flakes sprinkled in.  
  
Severus stood in wonder under the heart-warming shower, not realising what was happening.  
  
It was silent in these few moments, while everyone was registering and realising what was happening. Many had heard of Lovers' Light Potion, but it took them a while to realise. Once that was done, laughter and shouts erupted from the hall as if at a Quidditch match, most of them directed at classmates. There were embarrassed smiles and tears, jokes, as well as secret smiles. The Reduced Quartet had made sure to add some drops of Lovers' Potion to several, random drinks so as not draw attention upon them. Everyone would of course suspect them had they only given Hermione the potion; theirs was her last bought drink, after all. If many were affected by Lovers' Light, it would be even harder to find the culprit - which was impossible, but then you never knew.  
  
No one really dared to comment on the professor's Lovers' Light. Hermione, upon drinking the potion, had revealed the man she loved. Nothing would have happened had Severus left the room briefly.  
  
She coloured a deep crimson, then excused herself.  
  
Severus, in turn, paled the sallowest anyone had ever seen.  
  
Only few noticed this display, but Severus did not pay attention. He stood stock-still, paralysed yet again, his mind racing. All that he could think of was this little scenario, and how humiliating this was - and how Hermione was faring. He left, swiftly on the wings of his frockcoat's tails, trusting Minerva to deal with the children.  
  
~*~  
  
Only the little ones and the very busy students remained at the castle the Sunday after Hallowe'en. The Third Floor lay almost deserted as Henrietta hurried through the corridors, already clad in her heavy winter robes, and her indigo and silver scarf wrapped around her neck. She had promised to meet up with the others in The Three Broomsticks; the novel she had been reading for her Muggle Studies class had been more gripping than she had thought. Plus there was the essay for Potions to hand in, two rolls of parchment the ends of which were sticking out of a pocket in her robes. Now she was going to be late for the meeting with her friends.  
  
She literally flew down the stairs, somewhere in the back of her mind aware of her billowing robes. The way down to the dungeons was of course longer than usual, but Ri knew very well that this was only a trick of the mind. It was one thing to be late when her friends were concerned, but it was an entirely different story when Professor Snape was involved. Particularly with the events of Friday night in mind.  
  
Ri was out of breath when she reached the door to his office. She knocked on the door, and, waiting for his invitation to come in, she completely forgot that she was waiting for his invitation to come in, simply because she was busy catching her breath. The silence stretched the more the torrential rushing of blood in her ears slowed down. Ri knocked again.  
  
Still, there was no answer.  
  
Snape's name wasn't on the Hogsmeade roster if she remembered correctly. Besides, he had asked her to hand in her essay this afternoon.  
  
Ri inhaled deeply, drew on the Gryffindor within her, and pushed open the oak door. She would leave the two rolls of parchment on his desk and hurry down to the village.  
  
"Professor Snape?" Maybe he was just somewhere within earshot, and the last thing Ri wanted was to seem the nosy kind. "Professor?" She walked into his office, pulling the two scrolls out of her pocket, and carefully put them on his desk. One of them rolled off his desk and fell to the floor with a soft clatter. Ri sighed, turned around and picked it up, this time making sure that the scroll wouldn't roll off the desk again.  
  
Just as Ri was about to turn around yet again to leave, she heard the sound of something crashing in the next room. It sounded like a filled beaker, for the clear crashing sound of shattered glass was dampened somewhat.  
  
Ri took a step or two towards the door to the adjacent room. "Professor?"  
  
"Yes," came the inviting hiss.  
  
All doubt and hesitation aside, Henrietta pushed the door open. There was the shattered beaker in a small puddle of a glutinous potion that looked like yoghurt used for rinsing watercolour brushes.  
  
"Over here." It was Snape's voice, but it sounded dreadfully painful. Ri turned towards the general direction of the sound. In the gloom of the dungeon she could just make out a huddled figure near the door.  
  
The tip of her wand radiated a narrow beam of light once she'd murmured the Lumos Charm. A sinking feeling spread in the pit of her stomach when she saw Snape. The colour of his blood stood out garishly against the pallor of his skin. He looked damp with pain, his jaw clenched, deepened as of yet unknown lines in his face. He clutched his arms to his body, protecting himself with his drawn-up legs against violent shivers.  
  
Ri was so utterly unconcerned with the man's social status as she started to take care of him that she didn't notice that - while he hadn't actually lost consciousness - he had been drifting on the edge of oblivion until she pressed a cold, wet towel in the nape of his neck. Snape jerked awake then, and for a brief moment their eyes met. Ri wasn't quite certain what to make of the darkness in his eyes, and rather than allowing strange thoughts into her mind, she gently made him bow his head to stop his nosebleed.  
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked, turning the folded towel. Just as she wanted to put the cloth back on his neck Ri noticed the glossy, blue-black shine of feathers where pale skin should have been.  
  
Ri blinked.  
  
The feathers were still there, starkly reminiscent of the raven she'd seen in the Potions lesson a couple of weeks earlier. She covered the unsettling sight with the compress, naturally, her fingers brushed them.  
  
There were indeed feathers.  
  
Snape's slightly raspy voice had her recover her wit before her mind could drift. "Better. Get McGonagall." And as an afterthought: "Please." He raised his head, and the professional coldness was back in his eyes. "Miss Tumsole?"  
  
"Yes, of course. Are you sure you're all right?"  
  
"I would feel better if you did what you're told."  
  
__ 


	21. The Grey Book

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Four  
  
The Grey Book  
  
Minerva was sitting at her desk, completing this day's entry in her diary when a house-elf appeared. Poppy had sent him to tell her that Severus was awake. The Head of Gryffindor dismissed the pillow-case-clad fellow, and after recollecting her thoughts and mentally re-ordering her research, she left her rooms for the hospital wing.  
  
Never before had she been faced with a problem such as Severus', and truth be told, she did not have the tiniest inkling of what should and ought to be done in his case. The effects of Nagini's Venom weren't researched into as it was, but now this, on top of it. She hoped that she had done the right thing.  
  
Miss Tumsole could be trusted to remain discreet in this matter. Minerva almost thought it a pity that they had not made her a prefect.  
  
Hermione, on the other hand, deserved to - no, even must - know about this new development, but Severus had almost threatened her not to reveal anything of the incident to anybody. But if it was an effect of Nagini's Venom, which was very likely, Hermione of all people ought to know. Maybe this gave the work new impetus. Maybe this bore the solution. Maybe it was all Lovers' Light's fault. If she got hold of the culprits ... the gods pity them.  
  
Many infantile practical jokes found their way around Hogwarts. Always had and always would, sometimes more often than in other years, but be there they always would. This was inevitable in a school, and, truth be told, Minerva found them a welcome distraction as long as they did not harm anyone. Lovers' Light, for instance, was harmless in a way. On the other hand, Hermione had left Hogwarts head over heels for Somewhere Else. Quite a few people had noticed her Lovers' Light sparkling over Severus.  
  
This had not quite come as a surprise. There had been the odd rumour, the staff were no exception. But to find it all true was ... a surprise. Not a shock, but a surprise. Thinking it over, however, Minerva found that Hermione and Severus were a fine match. Both were brilliant in mind and in their own way. The fact that Severus had been alone all these years reflected on his demanding personality. Nora had been brilliant, so Minerva could not bear grudges against Severus for wanting a partner of the same qualities. She knew that in fact, he could not - was not able to - spend his life with someone inferior to his intellect. He needed someone he could trust to understand, to comprehend his ways - and to accept his role in this war.  
  
Minerva knocked on his door. It stood slightly ajar so Severus could see it was her. He bade her enter.  
  
"How are you, Severus?"  
  
He grimaced. "I think your potion helped. It could have done with less ground walnut shells, though."  
  
Minerva's lips formed a thin line. What about 'thank you'? She held his wrist and checked his pulse, which was steady and regular. "Any vertigo?"  
  
Severus shook his head.  
  
"Nosebleed?"  
  
The same gesture again. Minerva made him bow his head. Nothing but pale skin in his neck. "I guess the potion did it. However, you might suffer a relapse. I can't tell without more research into Nagini's venom," she explained.  
  
He gestured for her to have a seat. "Have you found the culprits yet?"  
  
Minerva shook her head. "Whoever did it was clever enough to use Potio Fumosa. Felix found it when he analysed the glasses of the affected."  
  
Severus paled. "How did they get it?"  
  
Minerva had already thought about that. "They could have learned it somewhere, which would be the most likely way."  
  
"And the less likely would be?"  
  
"iThe Grey Book/i."  
  
"How many copies do exist? Four? Five?" he sneered.  
  
Minerva took a deep breath. "I know the chances are astronomically minimal, but we have to consider this possibility."  
  
"Of course, Minerva," the Potions Master agreed. "So, do we know anything about the owners of such a copy?"  
  
"Well, Madam Pince doesn't have it catalogued, and Felix would be more than delighted merely to see a copy. The Ministry's Library deny having a copy, of course."  
  
He snorted. "No chance for them to get it from there, then."  
  
"All that remains is Knockturn Alley or the parents' library. But I can hardly send out letters to parents," Minerva said decidedly.  
  
"They are clever, you have to admit that," Severus murmured. "We can't force them to tell us, and we can't punish the whole school."  
  
Minerva raised her eyebrows. Suddenly she was not quite so sure anymore that Lovers' Light had been harmless - if it changed Severus a tad for the better, she was the last to complain. "Do you think Lovers' Light affected Nagini's Venom?" She couldn't remember when they had started to think of the poison in capital letters.  
  
Severus sighed. "No, I didn't drink the potion, after all." Minerva pursed her lips. Of course he hadn't. "I have had problems with Wings before; this time it was different. I think it has just been too long a time for him."  
  
"I can't imagine you've been hiding him all these years," Minerva huffed.  
  
Severus' patience began to wane. "I had to, Minerva. Don't take it personally. What kind of a spy would I be if I went hawking my Animagus about?"  
  
Severus was right again. Minerva began to feel a wee bit silly. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Any chance a spell was used on Nagini's Venom?"  
  
Severus looked at her long and sharply. "Do you mean to tell me that -"  
  
A cold chill ran down Minerva's spine. "No, I don't think whoever played this practical joke did it out of malice. Lovers' Light is quite a harmless love potion. I don't see a connection with dark wizards here."  
  
"Let's hope you're right, Minerva." He went behind a screen in the small room and changed from his pyjamas and robe into his usual black suit. While behind the screen he asked for Hermione. He had not seen her since Friday night.  
  
"We don't know where she went, poor thing. I've already sent an owl to Longbottom, it should be back soon."  
  
Appearing from behind the screen: "Is Felix around?"  
  
Thank heaven for non sequiturs, Minerva thought dryly. "Last time I saw him he was telling jokes in the staff room. We've arranged for a drink after tea, and I was wondering if you cared to join us?" Actually, she had been wondering only for two seconds, but he needn't know that.  
  
"I do care, Minerva." You have no idea how much I care. And thanks for not probing. It was hard enough already to admit to himself that he was in love with Hermione, despite his improved mood since he first discovered his new love. Discovering it and admitting freely to it were two distinct stories to him. In a way, he had to be grateful for Lovers' Light. At least he knew that his feelings were being reciprocated.  
  
It was just that Hermione now probably felt rushed. Discovering and admitting came long before going public.  
  
~*~  
  
"So you did it."  
  
"And we're still alive," Sebastian pointed out.  
  
Ri sat, carefully cradling her mug of hot chocolate in her icy hands. She still couldn't grasp what had happened. After this afternoon's events, she hadn't been able to bring herself to join her friends in The Three Broomsticks. They hadn't been delighted, but Snape was always good for an excuse. Now they were sitting by their usual fireplace in the Third Floor common room, enjoying their second day of autumn break. Dennis had just finished explaining Gryffindor's new Quidditch strategies, so Ri decided to discuss that weekend's events.  
  
She had a bad conscience because of the incident in the Dungeons, but since Snape and McGonagall had sworn her to secrecy on that matter, it was a bit tricky to handle. Snape was an ill man, and even though he had not drunken anything special, she was not so sure if Lovers' Light had not affected him in a way. Besides, all those secrets she had promised McGonagall to keep were getting a little too much. The teacher's trust in her was flattering, on the other hand - something was even more rotten in Hogwarts than she had thought. Ri would have liked nothing more than to share those secret goings-on with her friends, but she had a promise to keep. What a dilemma.  
  
"But it seems we've missed our target. Snape is embarrassed and outraged, of course, but," and here Ada made a dramatic pause, "it seems that Professor Granger is missing. No one has seen her since Friday night."  
  
Sebastian paled. "What do you mean? How d'you know?"  
  
"Yes, shoot!" Dennis' tone was urgent, and Ri's heart sank. As if her dilemma was not bad enough already.  
  
Ada drew a deep breath. "I overheard Sprout telling the Grey Lady that Granger can be found neither in the castle nor down in Hogsmeade. She said McGonagall has even sent an owl in search of her, to a Longbottom-person."  
  
"I know Longbottom. He's a year older than my brother Colin. He's an Auror."  
  
"Who, Colin?"  
  
"No, Longbottom."  
  
Ri hypnotised her hot chocolate. She did not know how or why, but somehow this was all linked: McGonagall's permission to use the Floo network, Snape's feathers, and now Granger missing - and an Auror sent in search for her.  
  
"Henrietta!" Dennis shouted. She must have been staring.  
  
"What's the matter with you?" Ada asked.  
  
"Oh, I don't know. I'm fine, really. Just mulling things over," Ri explained evasively.  
  
"Is it your book club again?" Sebastian, though an avid reader, did not appreciate Ri's work as he would have, so as not to admit that he was very interested in the club. Pride kept him sarcastic - why this was so, even he did not know anymore. But a few derogatory comments had ruined any chance for him to be serious about the matter, despite his better intentions. He would have to tell Ri one day.  
  
Sebastian had no idea just how big a favour he had just done Ri. She was more than glad to blame it all on her reading. "Yes. If you'll excuse me, there are some things I'll have to discuss with Madam Pince." She had to get out of here and think. In peace, and alone.  
  
"What, now?" Dennis was incredulous. The clock on the mantelpiece indicated about ten minutes left till dinner-time.  
  
But Ri was already on the stairs, unconcerned of her unceremonious exit. Among her friends this was ... not quite unusual.  
  
~*~  
  
"What has she done now?" snarled a fiery-eyed Voldemort. His cutting voice echoed faintly through the tiled passageways. Peter Pettigrew had just delivered the copy of Minerva McGonagall's letter to Longbottom. "This is absolutely not going according to plan!"  
  
Peter swallowed hard. What did Voldemort expect if he commissioned someone else, from the Light side on top of it, to solve his problems? Even with the help of Picea Parchment, there was nothing they could do but sit and wait.  
  
"Find her, you dunderhead! Have everyone swarm out and look for her, and before the others if possible at all!" Voldemort eyes turned into narrow slits. "I'm sick of sitting around waiting."  
  
"But, my lord, she and Snape are on the brink of a breakthrough," Peter dared to argue. "If you separate them now, vital exchange between them might lose us a chance to get our hands on a solution."  
  
Voldemort breathed hard. For a moment, Peter feared death coming from the narrow, crimson slits that were his master's eyes. Surprisingly enough, Voldemort merely let out a foul breath. "All right, Wormtail. Have the Death Eaters find her, and have them alert McGonagall of her whereabouts - and myself, of course. Now remove your pitiable sight from my eyes." He made an impatient dismissive gesture.  
  
Peter bowed and left the former station manager's office quickly, but innocuously so. Relief made sweat pearl on his bald head. He could be dead thrice over by now. If only Snape and his Mudblood found something soon ...  
  
~*~  
  
"Sir?"  
  
What on Earth had her go to Snape of all people, Ri wondered as she was standing in Snape's door, when there was McGonagall to turn to? Particularly since she had preferred the quiet of the library, even if just minutes before dinner. Now she was here. There was no turning back.  
  
Snape looked up from his book, and for a moment surprise flickered in his eyes. Then the cool, reserved blackness was back. "Miss Tumsole. What can I do for you?" He invited her in with an almost impatient gesture.  
  
Ri entered slowly, ordering her thoughts. "I was wondering if everything was all right."  
  
Snape folded his hands on the two open pages of his book. "It is, indeed."  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Please, sit."  
  
Hot and cold shivers went down her spine. He did not know anything, did he? Snape was renown and feared for his alleged mind-reading powers.  
  
"I trust Professor McGonagall has spoken with you regarding this matter?" He waited for her "Yes", then he continued. "I cannot explain this to you, Miss Tumsole."  
  
Ri drew a deep breath, which made Snape raise an eyebrow. So much for mind-reading - he was more of an observant reader of body language, and an excellent logical thinker. "I see," Ri conceded. "But please understand my situation."  
  
Snape looked at her hard, but interested in what she had to say. Not at all threatening. She had feared the loss of house points for her last remark, but instead, she was getting his full attention. Something was clearly very rotten in Hogwarts - or love had changed him for the better.  
  
"Ah, I think I do, Miss Tumsole."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You are a Ravenclaw. I cannot hide from you the fact that I am an Animagus; not after what happened yesterday." Severus had decided to trust Henrietta Tumsole. "My illness is probably not the consequence of Lovers' Light, if that is your concern."  
  
Relief and shock mingled in the pit of Ri's stomach. She swallowed hard. "So you know. I told you, didn't I, by coming here."  
  
Snape nodded. "Let's not talk about this now."  
  
Ri could not believe this. No points taken, no detention?  
  
"I need research done, and with Professor Granger missing, I will need your help."  
  
Oh dear.  
  
"Trust is very important in this matter, Miss Tumsole. Can I trust you, like your friends trust you?" Snape stood.  
  
Ri was puzzled. No actual punishment? Snape speaking of trust and extra work? "Yes, sir."  
  
"This is not a punishment, Miss Tumsole. Your work will be rewarded, and it remains confidential," he said gravely.  
  
"Of course, professor. How can I help?"  
  
-- 


	22. Traveller's Hex

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Five  
  
Traveller's Hex  
  
"Felix." Severus joined Professor Flitwick in the otherwise deserted staff room. The Charms teacher smiled friendlily at the Potions Master as the latter took a seat in the armchair next to him.  
  
"Minerva told me they used Potio Fumosa on Lovers' Light," Severus began.  
  
"Indeed," Felix nodded cheerfully, almost proudly. "A very clever thing to do if I may say so, and very well executed. Potio Fumosa is an advanced spell."  
  
"I know who used it," Severus said.  
  
Felix looked at him in utter surprise. "You do?" He was curious of course. Charms was a compulsory subject, and Severus could not blame him for being proud of such a special accomplishment of his students. Henrietta Tumsole, however, had bound him to secrecy.  
  
"But I cannot tell you."  
  
"Oh. But what should we do? Love potions are not allowed at Hogwarts," Felix argued.  
  
"Absolutely, but Dumbledore has been lenient with individual pupils before, why not with the entire school for once?"  
  
Flitwick sat up in his chair. "You surprise me, Severus. I wonder what Lovers' Light would have done to you."  
  
"That is exactly why I need your help, Felix. I understand Potio Fumosa has no counterpart spell?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"So the spell is irreversible?"  
  
"What are you getting at, Severus?" Felix Flitwick looked hard at the taller man, and then he realised. "Oh no. Do you know how many wizards before me have tried to find a spell to counteract Potio Fumosa?"  
  
Severus sat up. "I don't care, Felix, and I don't need this. What I need is you to find out if Voldemort, or whoever, charmed Nagini's venom."  
  
"Shouldn't be too difficult. But I'd need a sample, of course," Felix offered. He knew a challenge when he saw one. With the free time ahead he was glad to have something to do.  
  
Severus cleared his throat. "That might be a problem. All we have is a blood-sample and a memory of the venom's smell in a Pensieve."  
  
Felix stared at him. It was a challenge indeed. "Well," he said, a twinkle in his eyes, "Let's to it, shan't we?"  
  
~*~  
  
Minerva was just opening the door to Hermione's rooms, when a moving shadow - caught from the corner of her eye - made her turn around. It was Tenebrae, whose shadow had been magnified by the flickering light of the torches. The cat returned the woman's stern gaze calmly until Minerva smiled gently.  
  
"You like her, too, don't you?"  
  
The cat sat, wrapping her tail around her feet.  
  
"And you miss her. Come on in then." Minerva held the door open for Severus' familiar, who entered the rooms with feline grace. The professor followed her into the cold rooms. The fire-places weren't lit due to Hermione's absence. Perrine's perch by the window was deserted, as was her habitual place up in the Owlery. The bed was made, of course. The desk was somewhere in between the state of a creative chaos and order, all drawers and wardrobe doors were shut.  
  
Minerva sighed and sat in Hermione's and Tenebrae's favourite armchair. How silly of her to come here and invade Ms Granger's privacy. Dumbledore had agreed, of course, but he had already told her she wouldn't find much since none of the staff knew about Ms Granger's way of life.  
  
Maybe the house-elves would help.  
  
Tenebrae jumped on Minerva's knees. The woman obviously wasn't going to rise anytime soon, so she had to sit on her lap if she wanted to enjoy the pleasures of the chair. Minerva, after a second of surprised shock, stroked the cat's silken fur gently as she summoned the house-elf in attendance.  
  
"Professor McGonagall, Dobby at your service." He bowed deeply.  
  
Minerva looked disapprovingly at the house-elf's garish outfit. He was wearing one of the infamous Weasley jumpers, shrunk, of course, a maroon thing with an H emblazoned on its front. His feet were clad in a pair of mismatched socks, violet and green - Minerva bet he had a second pair of those somewhere.  
  
"Are you taking care of Ms Granger's things?"  
  
"Dobby is, madam." His large eyes glowed warmly. "But Miss Granger is not at Hogwarts now."  
  
"Do you know where she is, Dobby?"  
  
Something in the urgent tone and stern demeanour of the Head of Gryffindor must have affected the elf. "Dobby does not know where she is, madam. Truly!"  
  
"Did she pack anything before she left?" Minerva continued.  
  
"Dobby has to look, madam." He put on a puppy look which didn't impress Minerva in the least bit.  
  
"What are you waiting for, then?"  
  
"Dobby is looking, madam, Dobby is looking!" Off the little fellow went, taking inventory of Hermione's clothes. The shelves he couldn't reach he just climbed.  
  
The elf's industriousness seemed to rub off on the cat. Tenebrae jumped off Minerva's lap and began to look around Hermione's rooms on her own. She went straight to Hermione's desk, jumped on it via the chair. Minerva was wondering if it was better to shoo the animal away, when Tenebrae's hissing and raised hackles alarmed her. At the table, she found the object of Tenebrae's tantrum: a stack of paper in a box, as of yet unused. It was the very same brand of paper she used for her diary.  
  
"Madam, Dobby can't find Ms Granger's book-bag, some undergarments, jeans and shirts, madam." His big ears were drooping sadly, concern was clearly written on the creature's little face.  
  
"Oh, um," Minerva found it hard to concentrate, "yes, thank you. You may go now." She was already turning back at Tenebrae when she felt that the elf was still there. She turned around and looked at him.  
  
"Dobby is worried, madam. Ms Granger is very kind to Dobby, Dobby likes her very much," he croaked.  
  
Minerva didn't have it in her to be angry with the poor fellow. They all were worried about Ms Granger's absence, why should he be told off because he voiced his feelings - even if he was just a house-elf? "I'm sure we'll find out, Dobby."  
  
"Yes, madam." He nodded, more or less convinced, snapped his spidery fingers and disappeared.  
  
"What have you got there, Tenebrae?"  
  
Tenebrae in turn resumed her tantrum over the paper.  
  
Something was wrong with it, of that Minerva was certain. "Let me have a look, Tenebrae." She gently pushed the hissing cat aside, not without earning herself a few scratches, and picked the box up. Something was very wrong with it indeed.  
  
She left Hermione's rooms, Tenebrae on her heels, box under her arm, for the staff room.  
  
~*~  
  
"Hermione, you must tell them you're here," Remus Lupin insisted. They were sitting at his kitchen table sipping tea and eating biscuits. "I'm sure they've been looking for you."  
  
He had been quite surprised when he had opened the door to her the night before last. At first he thought Severus had sent her with several flasks of Wolfsbane Potion, but soon remembered he had enough of it left to last him two more months. Plus it was almost midnight. Hermione told him she needed some time off. Why her urge to leave surprised him at that hour he couldn't begin to fathom. Out of respect of Hermione's upset appearance he did not inquired about it.  
  
Now that she had been at his house without letting anyone know about her whereabouts, he deemed it high time something happened. Remus was certain that everyone was looking for her, particularly with last summer's events in mind.  
  
"Her-"  
  
"Yes, Remus, I know." She sounded tired. Too tired for her age, as a matter of fact.  
  
Remus refilled their chipped mugs. "Now, dear, if there's something you'd like to tell me - well, feel free to do so."  
  
"It's Snape. I'm in love with Snape." Then he could understand her only too well. An old love potion prank it was - never seemed to come out of fashion.  
  
"Ah." Now that explained one thing or the other. He could understand what effects pranks played on the good Potions Master could have - not without colouring a little, but then it hadn't been his idea.  
  
"Remus - I," and then she began to tell the whole story as befitted his ears - she couldn't tell him everything. What she could tell him, however, was enough for him to understand.  
  
"Hm." He was nibbling at the last biscuit. "I could imagine the Death Eaters on your tail now. It's really best if you returned to Hogwarts. You're safe there."  
  
"But no one knows I'm here, so I'll be safe here, too," Hermione insisted.  
  
"Hermione, don't underestimate You-Know-Who. If it's really as you've told me - and I don't doubt that for you're all very smart people - please do go back to Hogwarts."  
  
Hermione stared at her mug. She traced the fading ornate pattern of ivy on it with a finger. She knew he was right. Yet -  
  
"Look, dear, they would think you'd been abducted by Vol-You-Know-Whose cronies. You have to tell them. You may stay here as long as you please, if it's a break from it all you need, but I ask you to tell them where you are," Remus literally begged her.  
  
Hermione drew a deep breath. He was right. They deserved to know. Besides, Severus needed his massages.  
  
Severus.  
  
He - no, it was probably better not to imagine his reaction to all this. Or to her, for that matter. It was all too embarrassing.  
  
But she was missing him.  
  
"Oh darn," she finally gave in. "All right. I'll return to Hogwarts, then."  
  
Remus heaved a sigh of relief. "Mein schönes Fräulein, darf ich wagen, meinen Arm und Geleit Ihr anzutragen?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
Remus smiled. "I can't let you go by yourself."  
  
"Oh."  
  
~*~  
  
Severus had been sitting in the visitor's armchair in Flitwick's office, drowning one cup of tea after another, when a house-elf appeared with two plates of sandwiches. He checked his pocket-watch to find that they had indeed missed dinner. He stood and stretched, rubbing his bad arm. It was astonishing how much he obviously needed Hermione's massages.  
  
Felix was working in his classroom, where he had stacked all the reference books he needed. Severus joined him there, and sat in the middle row of the choir stalls. This used to be his place back in his school days.  
  
"Just a minute, just a minute," Felix murmured, having heard Severus' light footfall.  
  
Severus nodded, folded his hands on the table in front of him and waited.  
  
Until a triumphant outcry made him jump.  
  
"Ha! Eureka, Severus, I've got it!"  
  
Severus joined him at his desk, eager to hear what the Charms teacher had to say.  
  
"Traveller's Hex. They used Traveller's Hex. I nearly wouldn't have discovered it, because it's very similar to Apparating - which you can't put in a potion. So I looked ... and I remembered something about iThe Grey Book/i. It was written by Thorolf the Thoughtful in the eleventh century. Hence the difficulty with the language - it's written in Old English. Fere ungewunelice is the spell used; Traveller's Hex."  
  
"That's brilliant!" Severus replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes despite the strange feeling that he had understood less than he should have.  
  
"If we had iThe Grey Book/i I could tell you exactly about the hex's effects on a potion," Felix added.  
  
"We will get it for you, Felix," Severus shook the tiny wizard's hand.  
  
"But how? It's extremely rare-"  
  
"I have my sources, Felix," the Potions Master said cryptically. "What about a drink up at the staff room?"  
  
"Delighted, Severus."  
  
On their way up to the staff room, Severus swore the Charms professor to secrecy. They had a mole to catch, after all.  
  
__ 


	23. The Mole

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Six  
  
The Mole  
  
The two boxes of paper were indeed identical. The paper was of the unknown brand of Picea Parchment, bought down at Quills and Quartos. It was of good quality, the quill, however, glided smoothly across its surface. The ink didn't run or-  
  
Hang on, Minerva thought. She retrieved a written-on sheet. "Lumos!" made the tip of her wand glow brighter and more steadily than a candle. Ink paled when dry, but since Minerva used the darkest ebony ink available she was surprised to find it an unusual shade of sepia she didn't recognise. Why hadn't she noticed this before? She took a parchment she knew came from Hogwarts' usual stationary supplier and scribbled on it, just to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. And indeed, the ink, when dry, was several shades darker on it than on that Picea Parchment.  
  
She had an idea of what was happening here, but could not put it into a single coherent thesis, much less word her thoughts properly.  
  
Albus had to know about this, and Severus.  
  
And Felix.  
  
She took the two boxes and the written-on sheet and hurried from Gryffindor Tower to the staff room.  
  
There were already assembled the staff who had missed out on dinner just like her: Severus and Felix were in deep conversation by the fireplace.  
  
"Minerva! What happened?" Flitwick stood on the seat of his armchair in alarm. Merlin, Minerva thought, do I look my concern?  
  
Severus drew his wand, and with a soft "Accio!" a third chair moved closer to the fire. A gallant gesture invited her to sit. Moments later a plate with sandwiches appeared out of thin air and hovered next to her in mid-air.  
  
Minerva explained her discovery while Felix prepared a cup of tea for her.  
  
"We have to find out who else owns this Picea Parchment. And we have to tell Dumbledore," Minerva concluded.  
  
"Yes to the first, no to the latter," Severus murmured as he examined the sheets of parchment himself. "The less people know of this the better. Remember the mole."  
  
At this, Minerva looked up in shock. "You don't think, that ... that I spilled the beans?"  
  
"You have lost me there, Minerva?"  
  
"Well, I keep a diary," she explained, "on this very parchment. I enjoy writing on it, my thoughts flow more freely."  
  
"And you think that is the way by which Voldemort is keeping himself informed," Felix finished the thought for her.  
  
Minerva took off her square spectacles. "I am the mole."  
  
"Now, now," chimed in Severus, "don't panic."  
  
Silence settled on the trio by the fireside.  
  
"Have some brandy, Minerva," Felix was offering when the rest of the staff came in for an after dinner drink.  
  
"We'll talk about this later, at my place," Severus decided. "I must ask you not to tell anyone about this."  
  
"Dumbledore?"  
  
"Will learn of it as soon as we are sure about this. No need to bother him now."  
  
~*~  
  
Of course they ran into a Death Eater down in London's Diagon Alley. Hermione had insisted on the detour to buy a new mortar and pestle for Severus, and they were just in the door of Flourish and Blotts where Remus had picked up an ordered book when Lucius Malfoy was on his way in. Whatever he would want in a bookshop Hermione could not even begin to imagine.  
  
"Ah, so we meet again, Ms Granger. Lupin." Lucius nodded curtly in Remus' direction.  
  
"Mr Malfoy." Hermione was not keen on starting a conversation with him, and her tone clearly expressed this.  
  
"You're travelling in good company, as always," Lucius said smoothly. He did not make way for them, instead he blocked the way even more by toying with the silver serpent's head that was the pommel of his walking stick. It was no secret that Malfoy kept his wand hidden in the shaft of the stick.  
  
"Some people do know what is good for them, after all," Remus replied, a charming smile on his lips, ice in his eyes.  
  
Lucius laughed artificially. "Of course, Lupin. Well, if you please?" He gestured impatiently with his walking wand for them to make room.  
  
"Always a pleasure to meet him, isn't it?" Remus whispered as he pulled a very irritated Hermione into the street by the sleeve of her robe.  
  
"I wouldn't bet on that, Remus."  
  
And right she was. As soon as the two of them were out of sight, Lucius left Flourish and Blotts empty-handed. What he needed wasn't available in this street. If anyone could provide him with what he needed, it was Mr Borgin of Borgin and Burkes, Knockturn Alley. A complete copy of iThe Grey Book/i would please his lord beyond delight since it would offer him a whole new world of spells to discover, some that were ingenious in their own ways. As it was, the fact that they had a copy of several pages of iThe Grey Book/i alone was exhilarating, but as always, a bit wasn't good enough for Lord Voldemort. He wanted it whole. Lucius couldn't fault him for that.  
  
Mr Borgin promised to see what he could do, and, having purchased a set of mummifying instruments, Lucius left Knockturn Alley for Voldemort's new lair. (The instruments were not ancient themselves, but faithful replicas that would come in handy at some Death Eater revel).  
  
Voldemort was pleased with his Second Death Eater. "Well done, Lucius."  
  
"Thank you, my lord," Lucius bowed deeply and made a sweeping gesture with his free arm. "May I suggest something?"  
  
Voldemort's eye-slits narrowed a bit before he allowed him to proceed. "I advise against alerting McGonagall. The message's origin will be found out eventually, and this might endanger your plan, my lord."  
  
Voldemort took his time to reply. "Not bad, Lucius. You may go now."  
  
"Always at your service, my lord."  
  
~*~  
  
"Hi, Ada," Ri said somewhat nervously as she stood in front of her best friend's door. Ada had her hair wrapped up into a turban and was wearing a bath robe.  
  
"Ri, come in, it's quite cold out there."  
  
The warmth of Ada's room was indeed welcoming after the chilly corridor.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?"  
  
"Charms essay, nothing that couldn't wait," Ada said with a dismissive gesture. "Are you all right? Have a seat!" Before Ri had made herself comfortable, Ada thrust a mug of hot tea into her hands. She was busy preparing a new one for herself when silence fell. It lasted until Ada curled up in the other armchair with a mug. "Now tell me, Henrietta, what's on your mind."  
  
"Snape knows it was us who pulled that stunt on Friday," she began. Ada paled visibly.  
  
"But how is that possible? I mean, what with Potio Fumosa and everything?" She stared at her friend in disbelief. "You didn't tell him, did you!?"  
  
This was indeed more difficult, and worse than any of Snape's detentions, Ri found. Facing her friend like this was the hardest thing she had had to do in quite a while, if not ever. Trust was very important among them since they only had each other. Their status as go-betweens made them suspicious in their own as well as in the other houses. She couldn't imagine being on her own, not after the tough first year each of them had spent until they had found out about their otherness. "You know I told you we were discussing the essay I had to hand in this afternoon." That was her cover story, very believable, too, she found. "And somehow matters turned to iThe Grey Book/i. It's extremely rare, you know, and it might help Snape to heal his arm."  
  
Ada sipped at her tea. iThe Grey Book/i stood hidden in her bookcase for everyone to see. Covering it in another book's jacket was an old trick. Only she knew that there were now two copies of iOlde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes/i on her shelves. "What do you expect? Is it his punishment that I give up my copy?" Ada put her mug on the armrest of her chair. "You're a fine friend."  
  
"Oh, Ada," she said helplessly, "please don't misunderstand me. Snape won't give us a detention or deduct points if he can have a look at this book. Just borrow it for a day or two. You'll get it back, Ada, promised."  
  
"You're kidding. Why would he do such a thing?" Ada snorted.  
  
Ri's mind was racing. How could she convince Ada without telling her too much? "Because this time there is something at stake. It is important. We're all in great danger."  
  
"You-Know-Who?"  
  
Ri nodded gravely.   
  
"Besides, Professor Granger would-"  
  
Ada stood, tipping over her mug. The tepid tea spilled onto the rug but the mug did not so much as even chip. She picked it up and with a quick swish of her wand had the mess cleaned up. "I get the picture. The less know the better."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
"How much do you know?"  
  
"More than I care," Ri replied and stood as well. She watched Ada crossing the room, picking the jacketed copy of iOlde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes/i from her bookcase and handing it to her.  
  
"You might want to keep it in this cover, just in case."  
  
Ri hugged Ada. "You're a treasure. You'll get it back as soon as possible, promise. And Ada-"  
  
"It's all hush-hush, I know. Take care, Henrietta."  
  
Ri went to her room afterwards. She dusted the book with Floo powder, then threw it into the flames of her fireplace and sent it to Snape's private rooms as instructed. The book vanished as the fire flared up in a rich emerald colour.  
  
~*~  
  
iThe Grey Book/i thus travelled to Severus who was already waiting for it. True to her word, Henrietta Tumsole had obtained the copy and sent it to him. He picked it carefully out of the ashes lest embers start to feed on it and dusted the cover off. For a second he thought she had fooled him, but then the sheer cleverness of it all struck him.  
  
"Here we are," he said, holding the book out for everyone to see.  
  
"I wish books appeared in my fireplace like this," Minerva said almost enviously. Flitwick took the book, smiled at the old trick with the dust cover, then opened it. To his surprise, it was a modern translation of the book. Eleventh century books weren't bound like this, nor did their titles spell in modern English; the original title would have been iðe græge boc/i.  
  
"It's been translated into modern English," he said. "No wonder those kids could do it."  
  
"Take your time to study it, Felix," Severus encouraged him. "Make a copy of it, whatever, but please return it to me when you're done. I have assured my source to give it back."  
  
"Of course," Felix, who hadn't expected anything else, said.  
  
"Now, Minerva," Severus turned to the Transfigurations teacher. "I recognise the parchment. Ms Granger and myself have been supplied with a box as well." He called out gently for Tenebrae, who, for once obedient, came. As everyone expected, the cat familiar started to hiss and raised her hackles at the sight of the boxes, just like Minerva had described it earlier.  
  
"She's better than a Sneakoscope, eh?" Felix smiled approvingly. "Where'd you get her, Severus?"  
  
"Let's say she found me the summer before last," Severus replied cryptically. He picked Tenebrae off the table and held her in his lap, stroking her head and back to calm her. "I guess she will react likewise in The Garden."  
  
"Have you used the parchment yet?" Minerva asked.  
  
"Luckily, no."  
  
The woman sighed in relief. "Then it has been only me so far."  
  
"Now, now, Minerva, shouldn't we wait and see what an examination of the parchment will tell us?" Felix, always intent on remaining calm, patted the Gryffindor's hand friendlily.  
  
"Felix is right," Severus said. "Tea, anyone?"  
  
They worked on the parchment intently for the better part of an hour, until the results were satisfyingly accurate. The paper had been charmed with a combination of an ink-absorbing tincture, the Multiplico Scripturam spell and Traveller's Hex. They concluded that a counterpart must exist on the receiving end of the two spells. A spell that had a Quick-Quotes Quill copy everything down that was sent via Traveller's Hex from Picea Parchment. And at the moment they could only think of one person responsible: Voldemort, for he knew about Traveller's Hex. This new development was quickly explained to McGonagall who paled visibly.  
  
"Iagosson."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Felix said before Severus could, who in turn just cocked his head and furrowed his brow.  
  
"I saw Iagosson hand Miss Tumsole two boxes down in Hogsmeade last month. That's where she got it," Minerva explained. "Not Quills and Quartos."  
  
So Miss Tumsole was deeper into all this than he had thought, Severus found. But of course in this case the girl had just run an errand for him. "And you got it from him, too," Severus concluded. The Gryffindor nodded. "Who is he?"  
  
"You might want to ask who he was, Severus," Felix contributed. "I remember reading a notice in the Daily Prophet relating a Muggle disappearance earlier this year. The man's name was, if I remember correctly, Iagosson."  
  
"Clever. Whoever of Voldemort's cronies came up with it, is very clever," Severus found.  
  
Minerva, on the other hand, began only now to grasp the implications of what had happened. She was the mole. By writing on Picea Parchment she had not only committed her musings to her diary, but had also related them to Voldemort - including the goings-on regarding Nagini's Venom.  
  
"But that was the point of it all, Minerva, so don't put too much blame on yourself," Severus said, surprisingly kindly. Too kind, for: "Now that we know about that magpie paper - for nothing else is its name's meaning - we can't stop using it."  
  
"Sense of humour, too," Felix growled.  
  
"Would you like me to plant the odd red herring, Severus?" A recovering Minerva suggested.  
  
"That's the spirit."  
  
__ 


	24. About Conscience

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Seven  
  
About Conscience  
  
Silence settled on the rotund office and all its occupants once the explanations and plans had ebbed away. Even the portraits were sitting still, pondering what had been said, some pale, some with open concern in their faces. Dumbledore mirrored none of them. He was worried, though. His hands folded in front of him on his desk, the hint of a furrow and a plate of lemon drops that sat untouched next to him bade no good.  
  
Minerva was visibly distraught. Despite her resolution to put her role as a mole to good use, she was almost inconsolable about the fact that she had betrayed her friends. Reason told her that her friends were right - she had not known what she was doing, she had been tricked. But her heart would not have anything of it. She had made a mistake. Her hands were slightly shaking in her lap.  
  
When Fawkes burst into bright flames to vanish in a puff of smoke and a heap of ashes that collected on a plate under his perch, Minerva rose with a start.  
  
"Minerva," Albus said gently, finally, and rose as well. "This is our chance. Just look at Fawkes."  
  
All eyes fixed on the sorry heap of ashes. A thin line of smoke was curling its way from it up into the dimness of the rafters.  
  
"I keep telling her," Severus murmured, his nose disappearing into the depths of his chipped cup of tea.  
  
"I know, I bloody well know!" Minerva was almost shaking. Whether from rage or shame, none of them could tell with certainty. She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's quite all right," Felix offered with a half smile and a gesture that invited her to sit.  
  
They agreed that from then on all of the present - including Hermione, who had yet to return to Hogwarts - work together on a solution, and that nothing be kept secret from each other. This was mainly because of Minerva's new role in this. She had to know what to write in her diary.  
  
"What about Ms Granger?" Albus asked at the end of their meeting. Fawkes, by then, had hatched from the ashes and was croaking somewhat pathetically. Felix stood on a footstool and fed him nuts.  
  
"Mr Longbottom has not seen her, but a source informed me that she was seen in Diagon Alley, in the company of Remus," Minerva said.  
  
~*~  
  
"What were you thinking?"  
  
This he had meant to hurl at her, but all anger at her vanished in warming relief when he saw her coming up the stairs. Several students were milling about, waiting for friends at the ever popular meeting point in the hall where once had stood the Goblet of Fire. They had put up several armchairs and stools there, together with a collection of magazines and newspapers, such as iThe Daily Prophet/i, iWitch Weekly/i, iThe Quibbler/i, and iQuite Quotidian Quidditch/i. As if this was a waiting room.  
  
Severus had chosen a place at the landing that opened on the doors to the Great Hall. There he stood like a watchful bird on its perch. Hermione noticed him immediately, and after an instant of indecision she climbed the stairs to meet him. Most of the students did not even notice or so much as look at them, yet both professors had the feeling that more eyes were set on them than they had thought possible.  
  
"Professor," she greeted him.  
  
A curt nod of his replaced his greeting, then: "So, did you enjoy your little holiday?" His tone was, much to his chagrin, flat and lacked any hint of his anger, worry and relief. He turned his back on the lower part of the hall and cradled his arm in his good one, leaning on the limestone parapet.  
  
"Yes, thank you."  
  
"Next time, Ms Granger, I would like you to tell me before disappearing into thin air." Even these words lacked the sting he would normally have put into them.  
  
"Surely you understand my reasons, Professor Snape," Hermione replied coolly.  
  
Snape looked at her sharply. Of course he did. But she had to understand him as well. The hall, however, was not a good place to have this discussion. "Several things happened since then. I was hoping I could fill you in on them during tea."  
  
And so Hermione, once she had informed everybody of her safe return, walked up to Snape's chambers. This time she was nervous, all the more so since she had been perfectly calm entering Hogwarts. Back at Remus' she couldn't even imagine meeting Severus again, for whatever stupid reason; on the one hand she wanted nothing more than see him again, on the other hand she was afraid of him. Hermione would have preferred to meet him in a neutral place, but it had to be his rooms. And it served her well; she had been the one to run away head over heels, after all.  
  
She shifted the small parcel she had brought into the other hand, then bravely knocked on his door. Don't be silly now, she thought sharply at herself.  
  
A couple of minutes later she had no idea what had happened since before the door and now that she was balancing a dainty teacup on her knees. Sometimes even little things passed in a rush, leaving her busy mind no time at all to catch up. It was a safety measure of the human brain or something along those lines, at least if she could believe her source. Anyway.  
  
The parcel sat opened on the carpet, the mortar and pestle it had carried next to it. The instrument's cool grey marble surface glowed softly in the firelight. Severus knew the craft shop where Hermione had bought it. The shop was famous for its beautiful objects and their quality.  
  
"Do you like it?"  
  
Severus hesitated, then decided that it was best to be honest with her. "Yes, I do."  
  
Hermione must have sensed something - of course! - for: "But?"  
  
"It basically creates a new memory and replaces one I am not sure I would like to miss," he tried to explain, his voice rising at the end of his speech as if in question.  
  
Hermione swallowed her tea. "It's not meant to replace a memory."  
  
Of course it wasn't. No one forced him to give up memories of Nora. "You shouldn't have bought it, though. I smashed its predecessor, if I remember correctly." The last bit was meant seriously to a degree. But this he had yet to explain to her.  
  
"It was a pleasure, Severus. I wanted to do something for you."  
  
"An oral apology would have sufficed," he said, rather more formally than necessary.  
  
"It's not an apology, it wasn't my fault after all," Hermione retorted, a twinkle in her eyes that was not very different from Dumbledore's.  
  
Despite himself, Severus smiled. He reached for Hermione's icy hand. It was only then that he saw just how much Lovers' Light had overwhelmed the young woman, and he wondered whether she had known before. But this he could not bring himself to ask, not yet anyway.  
  
"Sometimes people just want to be nice to others, Severus," she said in a small voice.  
  
"I like it, Hermione. Thank you," he replied, sorry for being so engorged in his own small world. It made her smile, which in turn warmed him.  
  
"Your hands are awfully cold," he said, wrapping his fingers around hers.  
  
"Frankly, I wasn't sure what to expect up here."  
  
Severus sighed. It was surprising how much Hermione relied on her instinct and gut feeling, despite - or rather thanks to? - her intelligence. "I am not mad at you, at least not anymore," Severus told her. "I hope you will understand once I have explained everything to you. We may have made a breakthrough."  
  
Tea was completely forgotten for the better part of the next hour. Severus explained to Hermione minutely the events and discoveries of the weekend, interrupted by her disbelief and shock. She made sure that Minerva was all right and decided to go and see her the following morning. Severus showed her the copy of iThe Grey Book/i, told her about his special agreement with Henrietta Tumsole and about the culprits of Hallowe'en, of course. To say that Hermione was disappointed at this childish prank of her students was an understatement, but she had to admit that now that it was all out in the open they were spared embarrassing rumours and sneaking about the castle. Theoretically, at least. Nothing had happened between them yet. In a way.  
  
Most of all it was Wings who flabbergasted her. "You didn't tell anyone?" This was incredible, but - given more thought - only understandable. Severus saw that and did not reply. "Minerva was there to help you, that's good," she thought aloud.  
  
"Yes, and Miss Tumsole knows, too. She found me, fortunately. But she is trustworthy," he repeated, thinking to himself: At least I hope so.  
  
"So what's this about Traveller's Hex?"  
  
"We do not know yet. Felix is still working on it. He has locked himself away in his classroom, no one has seen him since breakfast. I have given him several potions for testing."  
  
"How likely is it for a charm that old to be used on a potion?"  
  
Severus took a bite off his sandwich. Until then he had not realised how ravenous he suddenly was. However, he still remembered his good manners and swallowed before he spoke. "That's difficult to say. I have been waiting for Felix to call me for hours. You see, it all depends on in as far Traveller's Hex was developed for potions."  
  
Hermione looked at him in surprise. "You haven't read the book yet?"  
  
"With professors missing or spying or turning into half-human-half-animal forms and students with raging hormones? Ah, but then you weren't there to live to see it all." So his sarcasm was back - whether this was good or bad, neither of them could say with any certainty.  
  
Hermione decided to ignore it. "So Minerva can't say anything for sure about the effect of Nagini's Venom on Wings." They sat in silence for a while, devouring their sandwiches with gusto and all their good manners in place. "I guess," Hermione eventually said, muffled by a napkin, "the only way to tell is to ask her about how she helped you - and to give her back some self-esteem - and a blood sample."  
  
Severus, who did not like being poked with needles, furrowed his brow. "Poppy must still have some, besides: the results of the tests -"  
  
"Must be innocuous as to your second nature," Hermione interrupted him. "You were human when we took the sample, remember?"  
  
Severus paled. "So next time Wings demands having his way I will have to allow him."  
  
"I'm afraid so," Hermione sighed. The pain of it must be unbearable, let alone the mental terror. "You won't be alone, Severus."  
  
"That's a relief," he said, and meant it. Only Hermione didn't understand it as such.  
  
"I mean it, Hermione. I'm glad I'm not alone," Severus confided.  
  
"You are? And then I thought all the time I was just being a nuisance, what with your arm and such," she said.  
  
Severus reclaimed her hand. It was warm now, and very small and very soft. "You are a great help. I'm glad you do what you do, and I enjoy working with you."  
  
There was an awkward silence which Hermione ended with a nervous smile and relying Remus' regards to Severus. After that, the moment passed and they fell into easy conversation as if nothing had happened, just like in the days before Hallowe'en. Hours passed just like this, and ere long it was time for bed.  
  
At the door, Hermione asked: "Would you have said that anyway? I mean without the revealing effect of Lovers' Light?"  
  
"I would."  
  
Then he kissed her shyly on her cheek.  
  
__ 


	25. Revelations

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Eight  
  
Revelations  
  
Severus did not close the door behind Hermione by magic. He held onto the doorknob, supporting himself on it. "What was I thinking?" he murmured.  
  
This was so very wrong. It was not hard to imagine how the school would react. Countless other affairs had made it to broad daylight in this place before, with mixed results. Some had been approved if they were mature, others had not survived the pressure of Hogwarts' close-knit community - or its politics. But that was not the issue - he could deal with that, and so would Hermione, in her own way.  
  
The problem lay elsewhere and was far more serious than a few gossips.  
  
Gossips.  
  
As soon as word spread - which it already had, of this he was sure - gossips were a problem and a danger as serious as the consequences. Voldemort or one of the death Eaters would find out sooner or later. Severus was suddenly aware of the mortal danger they faced. If Voldemort used this knowledge as a means of blackmail and kidnapping - and there was little to no doubt that he would - they would be forced to give up Hermione. Oh, he could see it so very plainly before his inner eye; as if it were a fresh memory rather than a twenty-five-year-old.  
  
History would repeat itself. Severus would lose Hermione just like he he had lost Nora. Although the situation had been different back then, as a Potions Master he could see that in the end it boiled down to the following scenario: Voldemort, short of temper and impatient, abducts Hermione, blackmails her to reveal the solution to Nagini's Venom. The same kind of blackmail - love - he would use against Severus to keep him down. Add to this the strings her certainly still could pull with the ministry, Dumbledore's aged reason, and Hermione's Muggle parents' inability to do something (no offence) and they would lose yet another brilliant mind and a great person to the Dark Side. And might - on top of it all - risk another increase or resurrection of Voldemort's powers. Enter Mr Potter jr.  
  
Severus pushed himself away from the door. Raven must of course remain a secret, too. But chances of its revelation were almost non-existent. The staff could be trusted. Minerva had already written to Voldemort that Severus had suffered from a bad case of post-traumatic shock. Very believable. Every child in the wizarding world knew about the long-term effects of Cruciatus and co. Miss Tumsole he trusted because he had a feeling he could trust her. But there was no guarantee, he knew that. Obliviate did, however, not seem a good solution. What was left was to draw Miss Tumsole deeper into this - if only to mislead the other side.  
  
Love, on the other hand, was a rebellious bird, and as such it had already spread its wings. Severus knew for a certainty that most of the students who had witnesses Lovers' Light had had enough time by now to spread the word; not only within the castle walls, of course.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair. There was no use in telling Minerva to come up with some story regarding Lovers' Light. All they could do was limit the damage by not letting anybody know about iThe Grey Book/i. A copy of it would sooner or later draw a Death Eater to Hogwarts like a light would a moth.  
  
Severus drew his wand and tapped the mantelpiece of the living-room fireplace, calling Minerva's name. He didn't have to wait long for the older woman's invitation. So she was still awake. At least one good thing about tonight.  
  
Don't be stupid, he admonished himself. The evening with Hermione had been delightful, despite everything.  
  
"Severus, what can I do for you?" Minerva asked kindly. "I was just pouring myself a nightcap. Would you like some, too?"  
  
Brushing the ashes off his coat, Severus nodded. "I won't keep you long, though."  
  
"That's quite all right. You weren't disturbing anything," Minerva replied. She handed him a glass of brandy. "So, how did your meeting with Hermione go?"  
  
Severus had expected the question of course, so he didn't please the Transfigurations teacher when he said: "I told her everything we found out last weekend. She came up with a new idea, of course."  
  
"She's had time to think, Severus, and outside Hogwarts. It's no surprise she's had an idea," McGonagall replied, much to Severus's chagrin. Why was everyone so creative in coming up with explanations on Hermione's behalf?  
  
"So," Minerva continued, "how do we tell You Know Who?"  
  
"We don't, at least not yet," Severus decided. He knew that trying Voldemort's patience like this was the most dangerous thing to do under the circumstances, but telling him might be, too. A spy to the core, Severus Snape loved the challenge of a good trying of the powers. And as far as he knew, Voldemort had no choice but to believe him, all for lack of a better knowledge. At least, Severus hoped so.  
  
"Minerva, do you think Voldemort has someone else working on Nagini's Venom?" he asked.  
  
Minerva cast him a look of shocked surprise. It wasn't that she hadn't thought of this possibility before, but she had been afraid of voicing it. "Do you think so?" She sipped her Italian brandy. "Well, someone must have come up with the poison, mustn't they?" she mused. The beverage was warm on her tongue.  
  
"True, but it might as well have been Riddle himself."  
  
Minerva shrugged and studied the contents of her glass. "Do you think it might be wise to keep him waiting? If he hasn't plotted plan B yet, he still might do so."  
  
"I don't think he's the type to follow more than one stratagem at a time, Minerva. He's just too full of himself to see beyond the end of his own nose."  
  
"Which isn't very long," Minerva murmured. "I'm sorry, this isn't funny."  
  
"What I meant to ask you, Minerva," Severus said, changing the subject, "have you mentioned iThe Grey Book/i in any of your letters?"  
  
"No, I thought it too dangerous. Would you like to see some of the letters?"  
  
"I trust you, Minerva. I don't think that's necessary." Severus put his glass on the tray next to the carafe of brandy.  
  
"Frankly, I would appreciate it. Just to see if I'm still believable."  
  
So Severus agreed, and sat down to read the new, edited diary entries, then compared them with the ones Minerva had written before their discovery of Picea Parchment. He could not find fault with them. Minerva still confided some of her more private thoughts to the parchment - without revealing any of her true feelings about the mole. Suddenly, Severus remembered Hermione's decision to ask Minerva how she was. And so he asked her.  
  
"I'm quite well, thank you. I have a new, safe diary now, and it helps a lot." Minerva stood to put away the fake diary. "Isn't it strange, how History repeats itself? I mean what with Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle's diary. Do you remember?"  
  
Severus did remember indeed. The cleverness of a certain Gryffindor had impressed him very much back then. Yet again, one might add, after she had solved his logic riddle to safeguard the Philosopher's Stone. If only it hadn't been for her ubiquitous raised hand during lessons.  
  
~*~  
  
A Quidditch match was scheduled for Wednesday, and until then Hermione as well as Severus were too busy to discuss any further plans regarding Nagini's Venom. They were sitting in their places in the teachers' box, which sat higher above the ground than the House boxes. It was quite the experience for Hermione to see a match from this height. The view was much better, both of the teams and of the audience. The atmosphere was tense but cheerful on this brilliant but cold November day. They were all muffled up in their winter clothes. Severus was sporting a thick black woollen scarf, and Hermione, who was sitting a seat away from him, couldn't help finding him ... well, cute. The impression, however, didn't last very long. As soon as she remembered what he had told her about Raven she suddenly wasn't so sure if she knew him at all.  
  
Minerva was sitting in between them and she enjoyed their match as well as she enjoyed the Quidditch match. The latter of which was quite slow a the moment, so the Head of Gryffindor had a chance to assess the situation.  
  
Severus, to her right, did not enjoy he game as much as he usually would. It was only then that he had a chance to catch up with the events of the previous days. one thought in particular was bothering him: Raven and his role in all this. Hermione had suggested that they take a sample of Raven's blood. It was, admittedly, a good idea when it came to their little problem, but it was lousy when it came to the mutation of man into animal.  
  
The pain and horror of it were close to the effects of Cruciatus. Generally, mutating from man into animal was neither painful nor horrifying. For a practised Animagus it was a swift process and quite pleasurable, too. In Severus's case this could have to do with man's dream of flight without machines or magic devices.  
  
Animagi needed to spread their wings from time to time, that was the reason why Miss Tumsole had found him down in the dungeons - not really man, not really animal. It simply had been too long a time since he had last been in Raven's body. What with his injury he had not dared mutate. He could have asked Minerva, of course, but that would have meant to divulge one of his most precious secrets. Now it was lost anyway, so he might as well ask her now - well, later, Slytherin had just scored another ten points. They were catching up with Hufflepuff - bitter as it was to see a strong Hufflepuff team, Severus had to admit that it was a good game.  
  
His thoughts, however, were carrying him away. If his little experiment with Raven was to be a success, he wouldn't avoid going all the way of the mutation. He had to see if Nagini's Venom prevented a complete mutation; then he would have to see if his wing was still paralysed. The idea alone that he might then be able to fly again, to get back his freedom made the price worth paying.  
  
Hermione and Minerva saw the Potions Master's soft smile and the glint in his eyes. Whatever he was thinking, they mused, they were happy for him. It certainly wasn't the Quidditch match. The school were cheering and hissing at Hufflepuff's Keeper Mary Masterson, who had hurled Slytherin's comet-like Quaffle back into the centre of the stadium.  
  
Severus came to when Minerva gently squeezed his right hand. In her smile he saw the younger Transfigurations teacher he had known as a student.  
  
"Can we meet privately after the match? I have been thinking about Raven," he said to her in a voice as low as possible. The cheering and hissing around them would, however, have drowned out his words anyway so that they were safe from eavesdroppers.  
  
Minerva agreed, and passed the message on to Hermione.  
  
But they had to wait until after a late supper. The match went on until well after sunset. The stadium was lit by an ocean of torches, and extra blankets had to be conjured for the audience. In the end, Slytherin lost. The silver-green team was leading when Samuel McKenzie caught the snitch for Hufflepuff. Thus, his team was leading by five points once the maths were done.  
  
~*~  
  
Felix' self-imposed life as a recluse lasted three days. The morning after the Quidditch match he left his office with large dark circles under his eyes which were gleaming with delight and triumph. He whistled for his flying pedestal mat, a fluffy, bright yellow thing that zoomed towards its master from the dimness of the rafters. It was, of course, a product of "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes". Fred and George had presented the tiny Charms teacher with the impossible thing the day after their final leaving feast so he could get faster around the castle. Naturally, Felix had had his means of getting around the castle before, but the gift struck him thoughtful as well as funny, whereas others just didn't see the handy side. The shape of the pedestal mat allowed for better navigating in a standing position and transporting a healthy stack of books - always within his field of vision.  
  
Ever since he had first used the flying pedestal mat, snickers of the uninitiated accompanied the professor when he zoomed the corridors with dignity. It wasn't any different now that breakfast was over and he shot - at top speed - into the slowly emptying Great Hall, at the head of which the teachers were just draining their cups and brushing breadcrumbs from their clothes.  
  
"Snape!" Felix called, not-so-dignified. The stack of books to his feet wobbled perilously as he made the rug turn sharply to the left by shifting his weight from one foot to the other to stop it right in front of the High Table.  
  
"Professor Flitwick," Severus replied, suppressing a grin. He folded his napkin and placed it next to his empty cereal bowl. "Good morning."  
  
"Good morning indeed!"  
  
"You haven't found out something, have you?" Hermione, putting down her empty glass, asked, almost breathlessly as adrenaline rushed through her veins.  
  
"I have, Ms Granger, I have!" Felix was beside himself with exhilaration. The big smile on his face made the dark circles withdraw into thin lines.  
  
"Well, maybe we should discuss this in more private surroundings then," Severus said. It was amazing, even to himself, how calm he sounded. He was as excited as the others. The books at Flitwick's feet finally toppled over each other and cluttered to the tiled floor. A helpful student or two quickly picked them up and stacked them in two piles on the yellow artificial flying fur.  
  
Severus nodded at the students, who - startled at the old bat's friendliness - fled the room as swiftly as their robes allowed. "Did I do anything wrong?" he murmured in Hermione's direction.  
  
She smiled and shook her head. "Not at all, dear professor," she teased.  
  
The endearment was yet another surprise this morning, and lest there came more, Severus reverted to his old mask and gestured for them to follow him. They met Minerva on their way to Dumbledore's office, and with her in tow, the quartet ascended the revolving stairs to the mysterious office of Hogwarts' current headmaster.  
  
Who was quite surprised to have so many guests right after breakfast - he couldn't even offer them a snack. Lemon sherbets had to suffice. After everyone was seated - Flitwick had made sure that a young Fawkes was doing well - he raised his eyebrows. "So?"  
  
Severus began to tell the headmaster everything that had happened since Hallowe'en. It was the second time that he told the story, and this time he left nothing out. He even gave away his most treasured asset of them all: Raven.  
  
"Ah," Albus said, stroking his beard, where a few crumbs still sat entangled in its wiry whiteness.  
  
"You knew."  
  
"I knew."  
  
Of course he did. He was like a father to Severus. How could a father, a wise one like him, not know about it?  
  
"No one must know besides you."  
  
"And Miss Tumsole," added Minerva.  
  
"You haven't cast Obliviate on her?" Felix was surprised.  
  
"No, I have a feeling about her," Severus explained.  
  
"All right then," Albus said, gazing over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "Felix is bursting with news of his own, I suggest we relieve him."  
  
"Thanks, Albus," Felix bowed. "Well, this is what I found: the venom was activated by Cruciatus, which is kind of strange since the pain it causes hardly allows for the victim to articulate a clear destination. Traveller's Hex was not developed exclusively for charming. Potions absorb its power just as well as things - the latter have to be directed to their destination by a short imperative."  
  
"That is strange indeed," Hermione agreed. "Would there be any other spell to activate the venom, say, a less brutal one?"  
  
"I'd need another couple of days to work on that," Felix estimated.  
  
"That's brilliant, Felix," Severus said full of admiration.  
  
Felix smiled, and exchanged glances with a proud headmaster, then he turned towards Minerva, who until then had remained silent. "It was not thought for the use by Animagi."  
  
Minerva was kneading her hands in her lap. "So there is a chance Raven was not affected by Nagini's venom. But for that we would need more -"  
  
"Granted, Minerva," Albus interrupted her uncharacteristically, "take your time, I'll have Black change the roster for the remainder of the holidays. Ad make sure to disinform the others."  
  
__  
  
My heartfelt thanks go to Tina for suggesting this cahpter's title. 


	26. Thorolf the Thoughtful

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Nine  
  
Thorolf the Thoughtful  
  
Hermione was so lost in her own world that her feet had to do all the work on the way from the headmaster's office to The Garden. Sometimes they got the help of a friendly ghost or a canvas person, but all in all they carried her safely to her office.  
  
Raven was making his way from her mind to her consciousness, and into her heart, but that she didn't realise just yet. Hermione had learned about Raven two days ago, had been aware of him in a way. However, she had not really connected Raven with Severus Snape. They were quite naturally two distinct beings, one man, one bird. The concept of Severus as an Animagus took its time to register with her. Until then she had only seen Raven as the missing link or hint at the solution of all their problems.  
  
Raven was Severus.  
  
Again, Hermione couldn't help thinking that she hardly knew the man, despite everything that had happened these past months. Suddenly she wasn't so sure anymore - of herself, of Severus, of -  
  
The kiss. On her cheek. Which she could still feel. Hermione didn't know if she liked this particular trick of the mind. The softness of his lips was still there, even its warm dampness, and his scent. This charming mixture of men's soap and herbs.  
  
It was just a kiss on the cheek! she thought angrily in her confusion. There was no time for idle speculation now. She had work to do - if not on lessons and homework, then at least on their problem.  
  
Felix' revelations had put everything into a different light, and it appeared as if a careful reassessing of her collected works since July were a good idea.  
  
She unlocked The Garden with her wand and lit the candles and braziers. The house-elves had already started the fire, and its warmth began to spill from the fireplace into the room. The weather had changed as suddenly as ever, from chilly but fair to icy and foul. Hermione was glad that the frescoes in her office were not enchanted to match the season, but helped to remember warmer days.  
  
First of all, after putting on the kettle, she tidied up the table in the centre of the room. Tidying up had so far never failed to help clearing her mind and sorting her thoughts. A steaming mug of tea next to her made leafing through her notes that much more bearable. Soon, she was engrossed in rows upon rows of those Arithmantic calculations she had done in Night One, in her mother's chemical analysis, and the 1979 copy of The Tempest.  
  
She would have to return the latter to Severus. The article which he had shown her, she now remembered, had been very interesting, but not related to their problem at all. Hermione thumbed the periodical for the article's title, but stopped short when her eyes fixed on a short, boxed note. It said that several sheaves of paper had been stolen from a painting of Thorolf the Thoughtful. The painting in question was the rightful property of the York Yard of Yore Museum, a renown institution dedicated to wizarding history. The canvas person of Thorolf was, naturally, shocked by the theft and rather upset. He hadn't seen the culprit, however, since he was asleep at the time of the deed. He claimed to having been hypnotised. Aurors were investigating.  
  
Hermione drew a deep breath. This could be a firm lead - at least when it came to explaining the whereabouts of the stolen paper, and how Voldemort would know of Traveller's Hex. If the spell in question was included in the stolen notes.  
  
It wasn't quite the breakthrough along the lines of Raven - which had yet to prove itself true. But it was a success in its own right, even if it only helped to restore the stolen objects to a painting. Before she sat down to pen a letter to the curator of the museum, Hermione reckoned that it might prove a good move to use Picea Parchment. Voldemort didn't deserve any better than being defeated with his own means. She decided that the letter could wait until after dinner, when everyone came to The Garden to report any process in their work.  
  
Yet, a couple of minutes later, Hermione went up to Madam Pince's desk in Hogwarts' revered realm of reading. In a way it was homecoming. As a student, she had spent so much time up there that it almost overwhelmed her to find everything more or less unchanged.  
  
The light in the library was milky as always on days like this, and Hermione deeply inhaled the smell of old libraries. No smell compared to that of a library, it was unique, just like some of the books within its collection.  
  
Only few pupils were present, mostly members of the book-club and senior students researching papers. In the library, status of the individual hardly mattered - they were all there for the same reason; learning made them equal. And in its silence, short nods had to do as a greeting.  
  
Hermione asked Madam Pince what she was looking for. She had learned early on that Madam Pince's memory was better than the card index, particularly when her own keywords differed from the library's. Today, referring to the card index would have done the job perfectly, but Hermione preferred the librarian's friendly smile to dusty boxes.  
  
A couple of minutes later she had found what she needed, and spread the books on a polished oak table. Pencil at the ready, she compared an art book from the early seventies with the York Yard of Yore Museum's catalogue published in 1982, and, for the sake of completeness, a handbook about the anonymous artist who had created the painting of Thorolf.  
  
It was indeed pages of iThe Grey Book/i that had been stolen from the painting. Hermione unlocked the frozen image and had the book zoom in on the picture in which the parchments were still where they belonged.  
  
~*~  
  
Ri couldn't settle down either. She had yet to prepare tomorrow's meeting, but the events of the past week had her staring into space time and again. She didn't register what she was reading. It wasn't so much her bad conscience; rather, it was fear - although that might be put too hard. Anxiety was more like it, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.  
  
Since Snape - or anyone else for that matter - wouldn't tell her what was going on, there were three options open to her: stay put and do her thing; ask Snape (despite everything) or - see if she could find out the one or the other thing by herself. The question was what it was worth to get herself into potential trouble.  
  
Well, brushing up her knowledge about Animagi was good enough for starters - it certainly couldn't hurt.  
  
But, she wondered, what good could it be?  
  
If she wanted to get involved in this, she had to start at the beginning. History suddenly seemed a lot more attractive to her than Transfigurations.  
  
Ri stood, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the former flower pot on the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire. It flared up a bright green. A minute later, her mother's voice invited her to come down to the shop.  
  
Scarlet Tumsole was surprised at her daughter's visit, and she made sure that Henrietta had notified Professor Flitwick about her whereabouts. A simple spell kept the good professor informed about the usage of this particular Floo connection at all times and places for better convenience of all involved.  
  
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked. "Would you like some hot chocolate?"  
  
However well Ri knew her mother, she was nevertheless surprised. Her bad conscience must be all over her face. But she also knew that she could tell her mother only parts of the story without betraying the confidence Snape had taken her into. "He knows, and I am to help out with his work from time to time."  
  
"Ah, I see," Mrs Tumsole smiled. She knew Snape well enough to trust his sense of logic. "So?" She didn't quite see the problem in this.  
  
"Well, there are some things about him that won't quite leave me alone. I was wondering if you could help me?" Ri stirred the foam of milk into her hot chocolate. Her mother had perfected the art of whipping milk into a divine foamy nothingness. She would have to ask her mother for the spell, because however hard she had tried herself, she had never even come close to her mother's.  
  
"Try me."  
  
"Was Lovers' Light particularly hard on him, do you think?" Ri didn't know why she thought her mother could answer a question like this when the person in question was a walking enigma.  
  
"Well," Scarlet began, but paused. She could trust her daughter, yet telling her about Snape felt ... not quite right. But Scarlet felt she had to go on; in a way, however, that had Ri do some guesswork. "I suggest you go for a walk in the cemetery part of the park. An Italian stele is particularly interesting."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"She was the great love of his life."  
  
"Did you know him back then?"  
  
"Let's say we were in Professor What-Was-Her-Name's N.E.W.T.s Defence Against the Dark Arts class." Scarlet sipped at her chocolate. Before Henrietta could ask another question, however, in came a customer who asked her mother's assistance. It was obvious this was going to take longer, so Ri drained her mug and left for the cemetery.  
  
There she found the stele soon enough. Not only was it made of Italian marble, the name on it was Italian, too. Ri let the name roll awkwardly over her tongue: Nora Loredan, Nora Loredan.  
  
She had to memorise the name so she could look it up in the yearbook. The woman was born the same year as her mother, so the searching would probably by short.  
  
A bunch of wilted flowers sat at the bottom of the stele. Following a sudden inspiration, she removed it. It never crossed her mind that she might be trespassing. As Ri carried the flowers to a litter bin, more and more petals fell to the ground, leaving behind her an easy enough to follow trail. The past follows us everywhere, Ri thought.  
  
The concept of Snape as a lover needed some getting used to. Oddly enough, it was strangely comforting to know that a man like him was able to love somebody. But it was beyond her to tell how love changed him. Well, not entirely, because instead of giving her detention and deducting House points he had taken her into his confidence.  
  
Snape was in love with Granger.  
  
Somehow, this realisation freed Ri, made her feel relief rather than disappointment. It was true, she had had a crush on the grumpy Potions Master, but - and she had to credit herself for this - she had been realistic about it. Unlike Sebastian, she had never assumed that she could actually win her teacher's heart.  
  
What had Snape been like as a student, obviously in love with this Italian girl? Her mother had been rather cryptic about it. Had she been in love with him? Or had they never got along well?  
  
And how must Snape feel now, after Lovers' Light? Exposed, naked certainly. Humiliated. Maybe even relieved. Or rather terrified? No. A man like Snape was not terrified of a few gossips at school. They all would have to watch out in the weeks to come. She ought to warn her friends.  
  
The customer was gone when she returned to Quills and Quartos. Ri thanked her mother for the information and kissed her good-bye. Then she disappeared in green flames flaring up brightly around her.  
  
At the castle, Flitwick was notified of his student's return.  
  
Somewhere else on the isle, Peter Pettigrew was also notified of this particular Floo network event.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus swept through the corridors as usual, and waited for stairs to move into his direction, and shooed away Peeves with an ill-promising glare. He was on his way to the library to look up something he needed for an upcoming lesson. He could have consulted his own library if he hadn't lent the book in question.  
  
He met Sirius Black on his way there.  
  
"Do you have a minute, Severus?" the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher asked.  
  
Severus nodded somewhat warily, cradling his left arm. He was trying to be civil; Sirius had saved his life, after all, so they ought to be even. Why was it sometimes so hard to forgive?  
  
"How's the arm?"  
  
"Never been better."  
  
"You know, there's something I've been thinking about, regarding the splashed snake venom."  
  
Snape stiffened. All these past months he had hardly spoken with Black, or asked his opinion. What with all that had happened he could hardly trust Dumbledore's good opinion in the former Marauder. Well, he added, Dumbledore had given him, Severus Snape, a second chance, too. It was high time he forgave Black. So why not now?  
  
"There's a meeting tonight, after dinner, at Hermione's," Severus offered.  
  
"Brill, fantastic," Black grinned. "See you there. The Garden, I presume?"  
  
"That's the place," Severus confirmed, and after a curt nod continued on his way to the library. Although he could not imagine what Black had to contribute, he couldn't help hoping. Maybe Black had seen something that he hadn't. Admittedly, he would be annoyed at that, but at this stage of their research progress was more important than pride. Theoretically.  
  
Just maybe, Black could help him with Raven. In spite of Severus' need for secrecy in that regard, Black's insight would prove helpful. But consulting him was something Severus needed to think over carefully.  
  
The library was mostly empty, except for a group of students who discussed something or other in a remote corner. Their hushed voices weren't disturbing, and since Madam Pince didn't look at them disapprovingly, Severus decided against telling them off.  
  
On his way to the Herbology section he went past Henrietta Tumsole who was browsing the School section. She was leafing through a yearbook. His yearbook. Severus was not quit sure what to make of that. He knew Miss Tumsole well enough to trust her not to snoop around in his affairs out of malice. In fact, it was not difficult for him to understand what she was doing. As a boy, he had wanted to know as much as possible about the people around him. This had of course led to the episode under the Whomping Willow. It had taught him a priceless lesson; but that he hadn't realised until much later.  
  
From this point of view, it was ridiculous to still hold grudges against Black who then had made his point clear - even if a tad unorthodoxly.  
  
As for Miss Tumsole: she appeared mature enough not to get herself into this kind of trouble. Severus looked at the photographs in the yearbook. Henrietta Tumsole was so engrossed in this new information that she didn't notice Severus glancing over her shoulder until he spoke to her. She had been reading the captions with the help of her fingers, so that he could follow her thoughts from Scarlet's to Nora's pictures. "Miss Loredan and your mother were close friends."  
  
The poor girl jumped visibly at the Potions Master's voice so close by her ear. But she recovered quickly, and without blushing. "She never told me about her."  
  
"I would imagine so," Severus said dryly. If Miss Tumsole knew about Nora she certainly didn't show it. He had to find out what exactly she knew about Nora. He had nearly given himself away by jumping to conclusions. Maybe she didn't even know about Nora and his love.  
  
Ri looked hard at the professor. Why did he do this? This reaction didn't fit the image of the old bat that was so treasured at Hogwarts. Why would he open up like this? And why to her of all people?  
  
"Why?" Ri wasn't quite sure herself which question she wanted answered.  
  
Severus took the book from her and returned it to its place on the shelf. "She turned to the Other Side - she was made an instrument of theirs."  
  
"And Mother couldn't forgive her?" Ri concluded.  
  
"No. She can't understand it. Few do. I can't, either," he added.  
  
Even though he loved her, Ri thought, but took care not to let on. How cruel was that?  
  
"Did your friend get the book back?" Severus changed the topic. It had been twenty-three years, but he still couldn't digest properly what had happened. That's why their situation was so dangerous: no one could tell when someone like Nora turned Dark. Hermione as well as Henrietta were in the greatest of danger. And it was up to him not to allow History to repeat itself.  
  
"Yes, thank you. Was it any good ... any help, I mean?" Ri asked almost anxiously.  
  
The ghost of a smile flitted across Snape's face. "I can't tell you much. It did help, and as for what happened: consider it as forgotten."  
  
Ri couldn't believe it. "I will, thank you. I'll pass that on."  
  
Snape nodded, and after an instant of hesitation turned for the Herbology section.  
  
__ 


	27. Decisions

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
Decisions  
  
No one of the assembled in The Garden was quite sure what to make of the growing number of those involved in the solution of Nagini's riddle; least of all Sirius Black. He hadn't come to the Garden with the serious assumption that he could actually help, nor did he think he deserved to be included because of what he'd done for Severus. Sirius thought that he owed everyone an explanation as to why he had been in the park. And just maybe, a fresh pair of eyes saw something the others had missed so far. He wasn't sure if the second contribution he had to make was worth the time, but he could try. If it hadn't been for Severus' invitation he wouldn't even be here. Sirius might as well just have told the Potions Master and then be off to mind his own business.  
  
"I guess I'd better explain myself lest someone die of curiosity," Black began before he was even aware that he was speaking. In contrast to happier times when he enjoyed being in the centre of attention, he felt uneasy now that everyone was looking at him.  
  
"Well?" Severus prodded.  
  
"Well, it occurred to me that maybe Parseltongue is involved, hence the difficulties," he continued.  
  
Silence spread in the room like hot jelly.  
  
"I don't know," Sirius shrugged, "I don't have much of a sophisticated idea about the influence of language on potions."  
  
"Let alone foreign languages," Felix added.  
  
"Particularly when we're talking snake venom." Hermione put it in more concrete terms. Severus couldn't help being reminded of a particularly zealous student at this. He almost smiled.  
  
"My guess would be that language is irrelevant in this case." Severus paused to gather his thoughts. "Cruciatus is one of the Unforgivables, the spell is powerful enough as it is. Anything else would be overkill, it would make it a sudden stab of pain, which was certainly not the idea behind it."  
  
"The language, however," Felix chimed in, "could have some effect, even if a minor one."  
  
"And that would be the missing link?" Sirius asked.  
  
Again, silence.  
  
"Well, yes," Severus allowed.  
  
"But we still have to wait for the effect of Raven's blood," Hermione said.  
  
Over-zealous, Severus corrected himself. He had wanted to keep this a secret - well, as far as possible.  
  
As soon as the words had left her lips, Hermione realised what she had done. "I'm sorry, Severus."  
  
Sirius smiled his trademark lopsided grin. "So it's official now?"  
  
Severus shrank a little bit, or at least some of his decency did.  
  
"Oh no," the canine Animagus jumped in, laughter in his voice, "You're good. It took me a long time to figure it out, and even then I wasn't really sure."  
  
"Now that's a relief." Sarcasm was always a sign of the Potions Master's recovery, but this time it didn't sound quite right. It was too stinging for Minerva's taste. "Anyone else who knows whom I don't know about?"  
  
Minerva shrugged. This school was full of intelligent people. There was no way to tell how many people exactly were having ideas about Animagi. Minerva wasn't quite so sure how many unregistered Animagi there were among them right now. There was no way to tell. Yet.  
  
"Look, there's something else I wanted to tell you," Sirius said.  
  
"Jolly good," Severus commented, "even more revelations." It was unusual for him not to notice the gazes that were exchanged upon this announcement. The atmosphere in the room became tenser by the minute, and Hermione felt as if the reins slipped from between her fingers. Felix shifted uncomfortably on his king-size cushion.  
  
"Well, yes," Sirius said, unimpressed by Albus' stern gaze. His blue eyes were icy. It was obvious to everyone that Albus didn't approve of Sirius' plan. But the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was utterly unimpressed. "Did you ever wonder how I knew about Severus' returning point after his meeting with the Death Eaters?"  
  
Nothing.  
  
"It's not as if I had nothing better to do than follow you around," he continued, this time addressing Severus directly.  
  
"You'd better," the addressed growled.  
  
Minerva then stood suddenly. "Will you two stop it right now!? This is not being very constructive, and I guess we're all beyond childish games like this." All of the present except Albus and Felix felt reminded of the strong woman who had taught them - very well - when they were students. Hermione felt as if it had been only yesterday that she had left Minerva's classroom.  
  
Sirius crossed his arms. "Albus."  
  
Severus inclined his head a fraction, then looked at the headmaster, who looked really angry by now.  
  
"Albus sent me. He had a hunch that something wouldn't go quite so well, so he sent me."  
  
Who are you going to fool? Severus asked silently. It was obvious from Albus' reaction that he had done no such thing - or rather, that there was more behind it than he let on, even regarding Sirius. "Ha," Severus had regained the upper hand in this. "You don't believe that yourself, do you?"  
  
Sirius flashed an angry glance at Severus. "Are you saying that I am a liar?" he hissed dangerously low.  
  
"Enough!" Albus' patience was only so much. "It's unbelievable that two of my best should behave like this." He paused. Both men looked at him defiantly, one rather more asking than the other, who was wondering what might come now. Calmer, Albus continued: "I did send Sirius after you, Severus." Albus had put his fingertips against each other, and he looked sharply at everyone.  
  
Hermione wasn't sure if that was a good sign. She reasoned that Sirius could be trusted. He had enough grudges to hold against the Dark Lord as though he could be on his side. Voldemort had killed his best friends, his family in a manner of speaking, and he had had him in Azkaban for about a decade.  
  
"Really," Severus said flatly. He'd never needed a babysitter before, and Albus knew that only too well. Everybody knew that.  
  
Good, so Severus was back to his sarcastic self, even though he knew as well as anyone else in the room that Sirius was following him not for Severus' protection, rather for the sake of the white wizarding world. Even after all these years, Albus didn't quite trust him, Hermione suddenly understood. Even Sirius looked surprised at the twist in the scene.  
  
"It saved your life," Felix offered.  
  
"It did. He did," Severus acknowledged. "You know, you can trust me," he added quietly, in disappointment. How profound it was, Hermione couldn't tell.  
  
"Severus," Minerva tried.  
  
"No. What else do you want me to do to show, to prove, that I'm trustworthy, eh?"  
  
Albus stood, which was a bad sign. "Nothing, Severus. I do trust you. I had to tell Sirius to go after you. I had orders."  
  
Since when did Albus have to obey orders, particularly against his better judgment? Who else but Lucius Malfoy did have the effrontery to give orders to Albus Dumbledore?  
  
"It was the Minister's order."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Aurors were suspecting a mole within Hogwarts."  
  
"Naturally, they suspected yours truly."  
  
Minerva protested. "But it was me. I was the mole. Severus, I'm so sorry."  
  
Severus didn't say anything at first. It was really quite natural that they would suspect him to be a double agent. He was, actually, but he would never divulge any genuine secrets to the other side. Never. Albus knew that. So they had come as far as that. Even Albus' judgment didn't seem worth very much any longer. They were in trouble. "It's not your fault at all, Minerva," he calmed her.  
  
"So Fudge had to make it an order because you stood up for Severus?" Hermione concluded, more for Severus' peace of mind than for everyone's enlightenment. She cast a pointed glance at Severus.  
  
Albus merely nodded.  
  
"Well, I hope he's satisfied now," Severus said. He seemed calm enough now that the truth was out there.  
  
Silence ensued.  
  
"I shall have to talk to Fudge," Minerva decided.  
  
"What good would that be? No, Minerva," Albus said, his usual calm self again, "you won't do anything."  
  
The Transfigurations teacher was about to say something, but his slightly raised hand silenced her. "Fudge knows what he needs to know, nothing more and nothing less."  
  
~*~  
  
That night, Dennis and Henrietta were alone by their fire place in the Third Floor common room. Dennis passed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and pulled his armchair closer to hers.  
  
"Tell me, love," he began, "what is the matter with you."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Well, we've been wondering, you know," he tried to explain. "I mean, that's what friends do if one of them behaves weirdly."  
  
Ri smiled. "Weird? Is that what I am?"  
  
"In the past couple of days, yes. Since before Lovers' Light. It didn't bother you, did it?" This was the first time that he was being serious about her crush or - or rather: fascination with - Snape.  
  
She laughed out loud. "That's so sweet! No, it didn't bother me at all."  
  
"Oof, now that's a real relief!" Dennis exclaimed. He leaned in closer to her. "Anyone else, for that matter?"  
  
"Absolutely no one."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"No, I'm quite happy with the way things are, you know."  
  
Dennis eyed her carefully. "You know I'm not buying that."  
  
Ri nodded. "I can't explain that to you right now. I-"  
  
They were interrupted by a team mate of Dennis' who came upstairs in search for Ri. "Snape's downstairs, looking for you."  
  
Dennis furrowed his brow.  
  
"I'm coming."  
  
"Good luck, you'll need it," Dennis' Keeper said as she kissed Dennis good-bye, mug in hand. She wasn't going to have Snape interrupt her nightcap.  
  
Snape was waiting for her in the hall. He was studying the parchments on the notice board when she made her presence known next to him.  
  
Ri was calm on the outside, but she was puzzling over just what Snape would want with her now. She had already helped him in lieu of detention and the like. And he had in turn assured her that they were over and done with. "You were asking for me, sir?"  
  
He wasn't wearing his cloak. "Indeed, Miss Tumsole. I was wondering if you could do me one last favour."  
  
"On behalf of my friends?" she asked warily.  
  
"No, not quite. Let me explain in one of the studies," he suggested, and gestured for her to precede him into one of the smaller rooms on the other side of the hall.  
  
Ri put the mug down on the table in front of her as she sat. She looked expectantly at her teacher.  
  
"We would like you to go on a daytrip to York, Miss Tumsole," Snape finally explained.  
  
"Ah." It was obvious that Ri couldn't make him out.  
  
"I suggested that you go because of your book club. I understand you need something from the York Yard of Yore Museum for one of the next meetings?"  
  
This time, Ri was quick-witted enough to nod. For some reason the teachers weren't able to run the errand in question. Had she proven that trustworthy to him, and to the others? She tried not to be impressed. "How did you know?" she asked nonchalantly.  
  
"Professor McGonagall told me."  
  
"What do you want me to do?"  
  
Snape covered his bad hand with his good one. "Look, Miss Tumsole, you don't have to do this."  
  
Again, Ri nodded. Snape considered himself encouraged to go on. "It has something to do with iThe Grey Book/i and its author, Thorolf the Thoughtful. Let me explain."  
  
Finally, Ri saw a chance to get some answers to the questions that had kept bothering her since she had found him in the dungeons. The good thing was that she got it without nosing around - she wasn't the type for that kind of thing anyway.  
  
Snape explained to her the importance of finding out which pages exactly had been stolen from Thorolf's painting. Since no catalogue was much help in that regard, they needed someone to go down to York. Someone innocuous enough not to raise suspicion with the Death Eaters.  
  
"Professor Black will accompany you. It's important that you go tomorrow."  
  
"Because of autumn break," Ri added.  
  
"Exactly. I'll give you a list of questions to help you with the interview." He passed her a sealed letter and a transparent glass ball. It wasn't, however, a Remembrall. The top fifth of the ball opened when tapped with a wand to hold -  
  
"-Thorolf's memories of the theft. You extract them from his memory in the same way you would do for a Pensieve. This is a so-called Memoc'rry," Snape explained.  
  
Henrietta was quick enough to follow. She did not know how, exactly, thoughts were extracted from a person's mind, but she was confident that Ada would be able to help her in that regard. Ada's hobby horse were charms and potions that concerned the human brain. She had told Ri once that she wanted to become a researcher at St Mungo's in that field. Ri thought that an excellent idea since specialists were rare. Everyone wanted to become an Auror or some such glorious thing these days. People easily forgot that researchers were needed just as badly, in case new charms or potions needed developing. "So, extracting his memories allows us to see them more clearly than if he described them," Ri concluded. She knew very well that words often didn't help to describe an image or a picture properly. There was always something words couldn't grasp.  
  
Snape nodded. "I've arranged for you to meet Thorolf and Mrs Diggory, the museum's curator, so there shouldn't be any problems. Here's a letter from Professor Dumbledore, just in case." Snape gave her another envelope. "You'll meet Professor Black outside your mother's at ten in the morning. Good luck, Miss Tumsole."  
  
Then he hurried off. Ri sat staring after him for a while, long after the door had closed behind him. The two envelopes and the Memoc'rry sat in front of her, however surreal this encounter appeared to her. Ri shrugged, then went to see Ada for some advice regarding the Pensieve thing. Another story she would have to make up to keep her friends out of this.  
  
A thank you would have been nicer than the good luck he had wished her, Ri thought as she drained her warm chocolate.  
  
~*~  
  
Only a few candles were burning and the fireplace was lit. Their warm light mixed with the cold light pouring from Hermione's music box.  
  
Hermione had asked Severus to come to her place, even after the meeting in the Garden and his subsequent meeting with Miss Tumsole. She passed him a cup of tea and sat in her chair while he took off his coat. They had yet to have their daily massage session.  
  
"Nice music," he commented as he sat and rolled up his sleeve.  
  
"It's old, my father introduced me to it. We would listen to it late at night," Hermione told him.  
  
"This is the first time you've mentioned your father," Severus pointed out. Warm massage oil melted away on his skin. The air was heavy with the scent of marzipan. He inhaled it deeply. It mixed with Hermione's own subtle scent, a light, fresh perfume. He wondered if it was a Muggle product.  
  
"You never asked."  
  
"There's only a photograph of your mother on that table," Severus observed. Hermione had started to massage his hand, but the sensation of her skin on his was less intensive than it used to be. It was probably best not to let any of this on now that their experiment of flight drew closer. The last thing Severus wanted was to be told not to try and fly. Not now that they were so close.  
  
"That's because he's the one to take the photos," Hermione said.  
  
It was obvious that she was deep in thought, mulling tonight's meeting over; the revelation about Fudge, the fact that Dumbledore and he voted against writing to Voldemort about Thorolf, and about Henrietta Tumsole. He knew she needed some time to think things over. Severus didn't disturb her any more. Sometimes you needed to be deep in thought in the company of someone. It was his very own credo and a lesson he had taught her. Instead, he enjoyed the massage, the intimacy of it. At the same time, however, he tried not to think any further. He would not allow this to get any more intimate; it was something neither of them could afford right now.  
  
Even if they wanted.  
  
__ 


	28. The Mummer

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Two  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
The Mummer  
  
Henrietta Tumsole and Sirius Black had Disapparated together to a quiet backyard in the city of York. The backyard had been cleared just for wizards who wanted to Apparate without being seen; the Shambles of York were crowded with non-wizarding folk at every time of the day. The backyard was still comfortingly green despite the time of year: its walls were covered in a thick layer of ivy.  
  
"Do you know the way?" Sirius asked her.  
  
She did. Ri had spent the previous night studying the labyrinthine Shambles on a map, and she was fairly certain that she would be able to find her way now.  
  
"Right then, I'll turn into my Animagus body now," Sirius warned her. Just before he changed his shape, he paused. "I would appreciate it if you didn't ... you know ... stroke me."  
  
The idea was so ridiculous that Ri didn't know if she should gape or laugh. Even as a dog, Black would still be her teacher; it would have never occurred to her to stroke him. So instead, she managed "Of course, sir."  
  
"Brilliant. Good luck, Miss Tumsole." An instant later, his body shrank and bent, he came down on all fours. At the same time, his clothes started to replace themselves with a shiny, black, short-haired coat, his face elongated into a muzzle, his ears grew, and, at the other end, he sported a tail. The dog looked at the young woman from amber eyes.  
  
Henrietta had seen Minerva McGonagall transmute from woman into cat and back several times, but the idea of shape-shifting had never lost its strangeness; particularly what with her recent discovery in the dungeon. Snape was an Animagus, too, a bird, as far as she could tell. If asked about the most magical of all things magic, Ri would put Animagi on top of her list.  
  
She nodded at the dog, then crossed the yard. She opened the wooden door that opened on one of the narrow, twisting alleys that made up the maze of the wizarding Shambles.  
  
Ri would have loved to explore one of the oldest wizarding communities at greater length, but they had a job to do. As they made their way through the maze, however, Henrietta felt immediately at home among the half-timbered houses, the shops, and the people milling about. York was less busy than Diagon Alley, although it was bigger; and it was calmer, less hectic. She decided that she had to come back with her friends as soon as possible.  
  
Black followed her around by her side, ever the watchful dog. Suddenly it wasn't so uncomfortable anymore to be here with her teacher for chaperoning, even though Black was the most easygoing of all her teachers.  
  
They turned another corner as though they had followed the way to the museum hundreds of times already. It was good to know that her sense of direction didn't betray her; it would have been quite embarrassing to rely on the signs for directions.  
  
Finally, they stood on the doorstep of the York Yard of Yore Museum. It was housed in a former assembly hall. Although the half-timbered building with its thatched roof was not small, Ri knew it to be too small to house the exhibition. If it weren't for magic! The building's interior was four times bigger than in ordinary houses.  
  
They entered, and, after introducing herself to the elderly wizard at the till, they were told to wait in the foyer where they would be picked up by Mrs Diggory, the museum's curator. She was a middle-aged witch, and she looked it. Ri knew about Cedric, of course, and she felt a shiver run down her spine when she saw her. Cedric had been her age at the time of the Triwizard Tournament, and Ri couldn't help the impression that his mother was now looking for something of him, of the school, of You-Know-Whose touch, in her. Or not, maybe it was just her overactive imagination talking.  
  
Mrs Diggory was friendly, and although there was an appointment she was surprised that somebody should be interested in Thorolf the Thoughtful. She offered Ri one of the biscuits she had brought for the welcomewizard. "He wasn't all that famous in his days; nor is he now," she added as an afterthought. "If it weren't for iThe Grey Book/i people would hardly be interested in him at all."  
  
"Are there many visitors for him?" Ri asked. Black sat on his haunches, observing the scene. He hadn't touched the bowl of water a house-elf had brought.  
  
"Not really," Mrs Diggory dusted a bit of biscuit off her chin. "Although his canvas person is actually quite pleasant to look at."  
  
"I guess he's just not interesting enough," Ri suggested.  
  
"But you're doing a paper on him," pointed out the curator.  
  
So that's what they had told her. "Yes, some people are curious enough." Teachers who need topics for essays, for example, she added silently. "Do you know anything about the theft of parchments from his painting?"  
  
"I'm afraid, no," Mrs Diggory replied. "But I'm sure we'll find something for you in the library, or you could of course talk to Thorolf himself."  
  
Ri smiled. "That's what I was hoping to do."  
  
Mrs Diggory led them to the mediaeval wing of the museum, allowing Black to accompany his mistress. They met only few visitors on their way. Mrs Diggory explained to Ri that she had cast an attracting charm on an unpopular section - not that this was common practice at the museum, she reassured her. It had simply occurred to her that Miss Tumsole might prefer some privacy, since she had come to get some serious research done.  
  
"His painting is the third on the right, opposite the window," she said as they entered a smallish room with a view on the neighbour's vegetable patch. The other paintings were portraits of witches and wizards that had been done by good but little known artists. The curator excused herself; if Ri needed anything, she said, she could find her in an adjacent room.  
  
Thorolf's painting was flanked on either side by a wooden, protruding principal post, thus separated from the other paintings, and in relative privacy. His frame was well lit by the window in the opposite wall, but it was not exposed to possibly harmful direct irradiation. It was the first time that Ri saw the painting. Thorolf's kind were usually old men with either authoritative or paternal looks. Also, she knew that his was an old painting, ancient, to be precise. It was something along the lines of the Muggle Bayeux Tapestry that came to mind.  
  
The painting was indeed ancient. But when she and Black stood in front of it, they found that it looked not so old, even if it read 1054 on the description tag. It had probably been restored after the theft, for the colours looked brilliant enough - if imagined minus a layer of dust. In the painting, somebody in dark green robes was sitting at a desk, writing. Ri could not see the face. She cleared her throat to announce her presence.  
  
The man turned around.  
  
It was a woman.  
  
"Um, excuse me, madam," Ri said, recovering from her surprise. "I was hoping to meet Thorolf the Thoughtful."  
  
The woman in the painting didn't look any less surprised than Ri. Even Black inclined his head in disbelief, Ri noted to her comfort.  
  
"My name is Thorolf the Thoughtful," the woman replied - in a pleasant female voice. She had approached the frame of the picture and spoke to Ri as if from a window.  
  
"But you're a woman!" Ri said, utterly confused.  
  
"Oh," the woman said. She withdrew a few steps into her painting. "How did you know how to break the spell?" She sounded confused, a bit annoyed, and disappointed.  
  
"What spell?" Ri was suddenly very self-conscious. "If this is the wrong painting then I apologise far causing you any inconvenience."  
  
"There is - was - a spell on this painting. People are supposed to see a man in his study, not -"  
  
"You?" Ri helped. The painting seemed to have a personality disorder. "But why?"  
  
"So - no, wait. How did you break the spell?"   
  
"I didn't do anything."  
  
The woman suddenly gasped, and pointed at Black. Something had just occurred to her. "The dog! It must be it. It broke my spell," she concluded, not entirely unhappy. She whirled around to her desk, at which she promptly sat to scribble something on a piece of parchment. Ri patiently listened to the quill scratching vellum. Gooseflesh rose high on her skin at this sound, as always. Ri looked at Black, shrugging. She jumped when she noticed from the corner of her eye that Ms Thorolf had returned to the foreground of her canvas.  
  
"Who are you, if I may ask?"  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Henrietta Tumsole. And this is Blacky," she added, gesturing at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. A low grumbling sound issued from his throat. Ri wondered how she was going to explain herself to him later.  
  
"You must promise me, Miss Tumsole," Ms Thorolf said insistently, "that you don't tell anyone about my secret."  
  
"Of course not, madam." Ri had the feeling she would make a good Secret-Keeper, even without the Fidelius Charm to make sure.  
  
"Good," the painted lady said. She seemed to be satisfied. She looked not older than thirty years, and was neither attractive nor ugly. Plain was the word that came to mind. She reminded Ri of someone, but she was not quite sure of whom.  
  
"Now, what brings you to me? I have few visitors," Ms Thorolf said.  
  
"Well, I'm writing a paper on you, for school," Ri began, groping in her bag for the envelope Snape had given her. When she looked up again, she found a stern look on the woman's face. So she didn't believe her story. "It's research for some of my teachers."  
  
Ms Thorolf nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She crossed her arms. "I take it it's concerning iThe Grey Book/i."  
  
Ri nodded. "There was that theft."  
  
"Most vicious deed," Ms Thorolf commented.  
  
"Yes, I can imagine what a shock it must have been," Ri offered, still hoping to make her friendly. Who would have known that the allegedly pleasant, male, canvas person was but a clever charm to visitors who came without their familiars.  
  
"Of course, but I don't assume that your teachers need that explained," Ms Thorolf pointed out dryly.  
  
Ri laughed, and for the first time, she felt comfortable. "No."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Well, it would be of special interest to know ..." Ri began, ticking off preliminary questions on Snape's list before she came to the point; two questions marked with a flashing spell as the crucial ones. Ms Thorolf answered them politely and concisely. The fact that she had few visitors did not rub off on her precise, concisely formulated answers that did without unnecessary embellishment.  
  
"Um, do you remember what pages exactly were taken?" Ri eventually asked.  
  
Ms Thorolf promptly answered. "There were eight sheaves the size of a quarto from the first draft of iThe Grey Book/i. Why is that so important?"  
  
Ri shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Well, iThe Grey Book/i is very rare these days, even Hogwarts doesn't own a copy."  
  
"So you would like me to tell you about them. Is that it?" Ms Thorolf sounded a bit offended.  
  
"No, there's a copy available. It's more along the lines of finding out who took your manuscript," Ri suspected, hoping that her white lie went unnoticed.  
  
Ms Thorolf opened up then. She released the knot her arms had made, pulled over a chair and sat. "Really? After all these years?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't tell you much. But I guess it is about an accident one of the teachers had," Ri offered. Where had that come from? At least a few pieces had fallen into place, now that she had the chance to talk about it.  
  
Ms Thorolf appeared to understand her situation. "Would you like a list of the spells on them?" Ri's Quick Quotes Quill faithfully wrote down a list of spells she had never heard of. Lovers' Light was not among them. "But listen, child, they're a first draft. Some of them I changed for the final manuscript," the mediaeval witch emphasised. She also made sure that Ri wrote that down.  
  
"Do you have any idea regarding the identity of the thief?"  
  
Ri shrugged. "I was hoping you could help me there."  
  
In the end, that last question remained unanswered. The thief had, in all probability, worn an Invisibility Cloak, and stunned his victim; hence his vanishing without a trace. Frankly, Ri was more than glad that she didn't have to resort to the Memoc'rry and the memory-thread extracting method, which she had had no time at all to practise.  
  
After one and a half hours of talking to Ms Thorolf, who had used the spell on her painting for personal reasons (she was a witch doing serious research in charms - in the Middle Ages!)- Henrietta said good-bye to her as well as to Mrs Diggory. Ri followed her way through the narrow alleys of the Shambles subconsciously. Her mind was reeling with ideas and questions, and the wish to be included in these strange goings-on that had her teachers revert to sending her on this special errand. What was she to do? Demand her share in it? Fat chance they would grant her that.  
  
However, there was already an idea forming in the back of her head, without proper shape or words yet, but it would become clearer, given enough time.  
  
She smiled, and at the last second refrained from patting her canine companion's head.  
  
__ 


	29. Desperate Measures

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
One  
  
Desperate Measures  
  
When Ri returned the unused Memoc'rry to Professor Snape she did so with a not entirely good conscience. A vague feeling of failure had spread somewhere between her mind and her heart. She explained herself, or at least tried to. She knew that she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. And Sirius Black didn't say anything on her behalf.  
  
Ri only stopped when it finally registered with her that Snape was close to a benevolent smile. "I'm sorry," she finished.  
  
"There's nothing to be sorry about, Miss Tumsole. You have done an excellent job." He wouldn't let on, however, just how much she had helped them. At the same time he saw now the necessity to draw her further into this affair - which he didn't like at all since he wouldn't be able to protect her as well as possible and as necessary any longer.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"I wonder if it's too much asking you to relate your research to all involved later tonight?"  
  
"But you don't have to," Sirius was quick to cut in this time. "You've done a lot for us already, and we understand it if you've seen enough of us these holidays." His little speech earned him a belligerent gaze of the Potions Master's.  
  
"Not at all," Ri said spontaneously. A little bit too spontaneously, for: "I wouldn't mind." Her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Finally, she would get some answers to all the questions flitting about in her head.  
  
"Thank you." This was Sirius.  
  
Snape merely nodded. "We'll see you in the Garden after tea then."  
  
That left plenty of time to talk to the headmaster and the owner of the copy of The Grey Book.  
  
~*~  
  
Ri decided to take Ada into her confidence. She needed to talk about all this with somebody, even if that meant betraying the teachers' trust in her. If The Grey Book was so important to them they would have to borrow it from Ada anyway. Perhaps it was best not to tell her everything, just enough not to alarm her.  
  
In the end, Ri told Ada that for the sake of Snape's arm - which was but a wild yet intelligent guess of hers - research had to be done, hence the need for The Grey Book. Little did she know how close to the truth she was.  
  
"Why didn't Snape ask me in the first place?" Ada asked.  
  
"Because I kept your name out of this?" It was a reminder rather than a question.  
  
"Oh, right!" Ada made. "Thanks to you we nearly would have spent the holidays chez Filch's."  
  
"No," Ri replied calmly yet firmly, "it's thanks to me that you all got off the hook."  
  
Ada snorted.  
  
"Look, this is important. I can't say how important for I don't know enough about this. But I've seen things. You must sense something. Practically all the staff are on tenterhooks," Ri endeavoured to explain, but Ada seemed utterly unimpressed. "Just like after the Triwizard Tournament."  
  
"Do you really think that?" Ada finally asked after a few moments of silence had elapsed.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Ada sighed, not really convinced. "I'm not sure if I'd like to be drawn into this."  
  
"Come on! Where's that Slytherin in you?" Ri nudged her friend playfully. At the same time she didn't admit that she felt quite the same about this. But she was involved too deeply already as though to quit. Come to think of it, the teachers - Snape even - had invited her to join them, so this business was quasi-official now.  
  
"She's appalled at the Gryffindor in this room," Ada retorted, not without any trace of humour. "Seriously, I'd rather stay out of this. I'll borrow the book to you, and I'll be there for you - you know that, don't you - but I'm afraid that's all I can do to help."  
  
Despite her disappointment, Ri managed a smile. "Thanks." They sat in companionable silence for a while, in which Ada understood Ri's strange behaviour of late. Everything fell into place: her silence, the odd answers, and her trip to York. It suddenly became clear what Ri had already invested in this business, and Ada had a feeling it wasn't going to be any less. So she promised Ri to stand by her yet again, and she couldn't get plain enough about the fact that she really meant it.  
  
Thus relieved of a heavy burden, Ri was disappearing into her friend's bathroom, when there was a sharp knock on Ada's door. Ri closed the door but waited. And eavesdropped, rather to know if she had better lay low or could do what she'd come here for.  
  
She heard Ada open the door on -  
  
"Professor Snape!" Ada sounded adequately surprised. The Head of Slytherin usually didn't come a-knocking on his students' doors if he wanted something. Her original objective forgotten, Ri sat on the closed lavatory seat and tried not to make her presence known. It had only been a matter of minutes that she'd talked to ... the old bat.  
  
Ada recovered: "What can I do for you, sir?"  
  
"It has come to my attention that you are in the possession of an exceptionally rare book," Snape said. How ...?  
  
"The Grey Book." Snape's charisma was such that inspired readiness to oblige even in Slytherins. He would find out the truth sooner or later anyway. But how, Ri puzzled, did he know that it was Ada's book? She was certain she hadn't mentioned any names!  
  
"Exactly." Snape's tone was calm, almost friendly. "I was wondering if I could borrow it one more time? I expect you won't be needing it in the near future." The latter was neither question nor suggestion.  
  
In the silence that ensued Ri visualised Ada going to her bookcase, pulling out the book and handing it to the professor; she could hear her move around. Then there were Snape's steps, and the door opened. She was going to be in trouble for this, Ri realised.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How did you know where to go for the book?" Ada drew on the special bond that existed between Slytherins, that didn't exclude their head.  
  
"Oh," Snape said, remembering. Ri could hear him browsing through the book. "I think I had better leave this with you." He must hand her a slip of paper or something similar, who drew in her breath sharply with surprise but of course wouldn't blush. Ada never blushed in situations like this; Ri wished she could be just as nonchalant.  
  
"Will I get this book back?"  
  
There wasn't a reply, at least not a verbal one. Then the door closed.  
  
When Ri returned from the bathroom, Ada held out a postcard to her. It showed a picture of the Cornish landscape, and on the recto sported Ada's name; Sebastian had sent the card to her the summer before last. Ada always used postcards as bookmarks, so Ri didn't even begin to wonder why there would be a relatively old postcard in a book Ada had sent for only a couple of weeks ago. "So? Will you get it back?"  
  
Ada nodded. "I'm sorry," she added with a lopsided grin. The postcard was the best evidence for the fact that Ri had not betrayed their trust.  
  
"He promised to leave us be," Ri reassured her friend yet again.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus remained seated when after the meeting everybody left to attend to new or old tasks or just to enjoy the rest of the evening. Their prospects weren't good. All the work they'd accomplished since the discovery of Traveller's Hex had been based - naturally - on their edition of The Grey Book. But now it turned out that Voldemort had only a first draft, and since they had not told Miss Tumsole specifically what to look for could not tell right know if there was any difference between the first and the final draft of Traveller's Hex. At least it had been on the list of stolen spells Miss Tumsole had brought back.  
  
Miss Tumsole had retold her experience faithfully and had promised to help in case more research trips were necessary. This was the most Dumbledore would allow. He had consented for her to go just once more to York, and only in the company of Black. After that she was to return to her usual work as a student. The school had to provide for her safety, and other than Snape, Dumbledore was not ready to sacrifice any of his charges' safety. The school board was a fickle enough institution, particularly so with Malfoy still as its chairman.  
  
Snape understood, of course, and was relieved; even as the old bat Severus was concerned about his students' welfare. On the other hand, however, he was of the opinion that they gave up an important opportunity. But Dumbledore and the others would have none of it.  
  
His musings were disrupted by a sharp pain that shot through his poisoned arm. It was only momentary so there was hardly time enough to wince. Luckily so, for he had a feeling he could not deal with Hermione's concern - and rash deductions - right now. So he covered his arm with his good hand, massaging it gently. Hermione was still busy organising her papers and books on the table that dominated the room. She seemed not to have noticed.  
  
Severus had to try to transmute the next day. He feared that the longer he waited, the more the condition of his arm would deteriorate. Of course, he wouldn't tell Hermione until after the experiment. Too much depended on it.  
  
He looked up when Hermione addressed him. "I think I'll go through my notes for a little while longer." As if she hadn't done so often enough already. Severus as well as she doubted that even with her little holiday this was going to be much of a help. Maybe she could calculate the probability of a difference between the first and the final drafts of Travellers' Hex, but that was all she could do. They would have to wait for Miss Tumsole to return from her second trip the following Saturday.  
  
Truth be told, Severus was sick of waiting. They were little more than sitting ducks, and too much time had elapsed since that fateful night in the summer past. He was sure that Voldemort's patience was being severely tried by now. But this he had already voiced, and repeating it wouldn't be any help, on the contrary. A little pressure was good for work, but there was only so much motivational value to pressure.  
  
"Don't stay up too long, though," Severus advised her eventually, and having crossed the distance from where he had been sitting on the settee to Hermione, who was sitting at her work table. He touched her between the shoulder blades and kissed her head gently.  
  
"I won't, just a few calculations," Hermione smiled at him, though a tad wearily.  
  
Still, Severus was reluctant to leave her alone. He wasn't very familiar with the feeling of having something on the tip of his tongue; and this went without the comfort of knowing what it was. There was something he wanted to tell her; it was rather like a dream not remembered in the morning. All there lingered was the feeling, the knowing that there was something.  
  
"Are you all right, Severus?"  
  
"I think so," he said without much conviction. Now, Hermione was a very sensible woman who was also emotionally intelligent. She didn't believe Severus, but she knew him well enough to remain silent, for it was of no avail to push him. He might answer her when he was ready, either out of his won accord or by subtle questions.  
  
"Well, I could come and see you a little later tonight," Hermione suggested. "If that's all right with you."  
  
This time, Severus kissed her lips, briefly, and almost in a brotherly manner. "I'll wait for you." Thus, Hermione was obliged to let him go, but - what was more - she might get some answers.  
  
~*~  
  
Lucius Malfoy, a tall man of good looks, blessed with a long, pale blond queue, did not like the stout little man in his breakfast-parlour. Yet, Malfoy thought highly of Pettigrew for the more ingenious of his ideas. Since it had become absolutely necessary for the two of them to work closer together, he did his best not to think about the bald man too often. Malfoy knew, of course, that the feeling was mutual, but what with Lord Voldemort's increasing restlessness and impatience they had had no other choice. Too much was at stake here, for all of them.  
  
"So there is not any news from Hogwarts worth mentioning?"  
  
"I'm afraid not. McGonagall hasn't related much to her diary lately," Peter said.  
  
"Hm," Lucius made. "Is it at all possible that they've discovered Picea Parchment for what it is?"  
  
"Hardly," Peter said, making a dismissive gesture.  
  
"Unless, of course, something went wrong," Lucius murmured.  
  
Peter shifted uneasily in his deep armchair. It was upholstered in a rich velvety material that sported the darkest hue of green. It matched the dark room perfectly. Even for the Malfoys' breakfast-parlour it was an unwelcoming and dismal room. "Frankly, I can't begin to imagine what could have gone wrong."  
  
Lucius had his goblet refilled by a shy little house-elf. The small creature's large eyes gleamed with fear, and Peter could imagine that it was all he could do to stop his hands from trembling. Malfoy's temper, at some wine spilled, was something Peter would rather not picture. He almost pitied the tea-towel-clad fellow. "Maybe," his host continued, "it is what you thought safest."  
  
The Animagus called Wormtail looked at him perplexed. "The Grey Book? But how can that be? It's so rare even we can't get hold of a copy," Peter reasoned, for there still wasn't any good news from Borgin.  
  
"Even Borgin has difficulties, true," Lucius conceded. "But Snape and his little Mudblood wench are a force to be reckoned with."  
  
Peter gave it one last try. "But how would they know it's The Grey Book they need? It's so minor a work no one would even think to consult it. And it's not always entirely on the right side of their law."  
  
"They are desperate, Pettigrew," Lucius pointed out.  
  
Peter had to admit that Malfoy had a point. He himself had acted on desperate measures repeatedly in the past two decades or so; living as the Weasleys' family rat was but one example. "But how can we find out?"  
  
Lucius smiled a smug smile. "It has come to my attention that a Ravenclaw has visited with Thorolf's painting today. Now," he leaned forward in his chair, "why would she do that?"  
  
"Dumbledore would never put one of his students at risk," Peter rejected the idea. "This must mean nothing."  
  
Lucius reclined in his chair, reaching for his goblet. "I don't believe in chance, my dear Pettigrew," he said.  
  
They sat in silence for a while. Peter was still sceptical. He could not be convinced by any of Malfoy's arguments. It was just too far-fetched that they should stumble across The Grey Book. They had not the faintest idea where to begin with their research. Unless, of course, ...  
  
"They did not get a hint, believe me," Lucius assured his guest once the thought had been voiced.  
  
Malfoy, on the other hand, reckoned with everything. If someone could solve Voldemort's problem it was Snape. He would know about rare ancient books, and if not he, then Flitwick. So much time had gone by, and McGonagall's letters had changed, had become more inconclusive as to Snape's progress. Either there was none (which Lucius thought unlikely, impossible even), or they deceived them. "Is there a possibility for you to go to Hogwarts and find out?"  
  
Peter spontaneously remembered the intelligence about Miss Tumsole's connection to the Floo Network. But how was it to be made use of? He could hardly transmute into Wormtail, everyone would be waiting for the silver-pawed rat to make his appearance. Polyjuice Potion was an option, albeit a very dangerous one. What was more, it took a month to brew a new batch of it; even powerful potions had a best-before date, and his last batch would be too old by now, if it hadn't been for his using every last drop of it on Iagosson. "Why don't you go there yourself until I've found a way for the more delicate tasks?"  
  
As chairman of the School Board, Lucius Malfoy could always visit with Hogwarts for some reason. Peter knew that Malfoy was not the type to be at a loss for some pretext or other to justify his ends.  
  
Malfoy's eyes contracted into slits. "Yes, indeed, why not."  
  
__ 


	30. I, Spy

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Note: Wings is based on the first four canon books. Anything that happens in OotP did not happen in the events prior to the starting point of Wings.  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Two  
  
I, Spy  
  
Hermione made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. In the Garden, she had her fire let go out for the night, and since she had been so engrossed in her work, and later in her thoughts, that she had failed to call upon a house-elf's services. Severus' living-room was comfortably warm, and Hermione was grateful for some additional warmth when Tenebrae jumped on her lap and settled there for a nap. Almost immediately, automatically even, Hermione began to stroke the cat's silken fur. Again, she was painfully aware of Crookshanks' loss. She was a cat-person, after all.  
  
"It's not too late, is it?" she asked when Severus passed her a steaming drink. It was spiced chocolate.  
  
"Depends," was the monosyllabic response. He looked pensive and grave; so he had been thinking about whatever he couldn't tell her earlier. Hermione wondered about what might come, but Severus remained silent for a while, until Hermione had finished half of the spicy-sweet drink.  
  
"So did you find anything out about a potential difference between the drafts?" Severus eventually began their conversation, unsure if the pun was intended or not.  
  
Hermione twisted and stretched in her seat to produce a folded piece of parchment from a pocket in her cardigan. She passed it to him. "We have a problem. Thorolf has most likely changed some agents of Traveller's Hex. I'm afraid we'll have to send Miss Tumsole back to York one more time."  
  
Severus returned the slip of paper to her. "So it might be possible that the paralysis is due to wrong ingredients." It wasn't a question, nor was Hermione uncertain about the fact that they wouldn't need Arithmancy to figure out something like that. But ... they needed a figure of chance, some factor of probability that their assumptions were right. Rather than Severus' supreme knowledge of potions. Not much different from her parents' way of working, Hermione noticed.  
  
"Most likely, yes."  
  
Snape snorted. "Doesn't really reflect well on whoever brewed this infernal venom." He sipped at his drink.  
  
Hermione exhaled in a sigh. "Well, as soon as we've got the composition of the final draft we can get to working out the antidote for your version of the venom. We must be careful, however, not to rely on Miss Tumsole's report alone. The venom is a mix of several agents, including spells. It might as well be that its composition rather than an unrefined recipe caused the paralysis." After this little speech she fell silent, enjoyed her spiced hot chocolate. Severus, knowing that she was right, did not have anything to add. He only repeated to himself the resolution regarding Raven's flight.  
  
"This drink is very good," Hermione pointed out when the silence became viscous.  
  
Severus smiled softly. "I had a feeling you might like it," he said silkily. "It's a genuine recipe from Central America - or at least that's what it says in the book." He summoned his copy of 'Chocolate - A Collection for the Culinary Connoisseur' and had it land on the armrest of Hermione's chair. While she was browsing it, he commented: "It comes in handy after encounters with the Dark Side."  
  
Hermione nodded appreciatively. A million other ideas imposed themselves on her. "And otherwise it delights the palate." She smiled.  
  
Severus laughed his gentle, humble laugh. Hermione loved its sound. It was nothing at all like the exploding, derisive "Ha!" for which Severus was renown. And it belonged all to her. "It certainly does."  
  
After that, they again lapsed into silence. Severus broke it eventually. "Hermione, I have been meaning to tell you something. It is a very delicate matter, so I found it difficult to bring it up. I do not know where to begin. Can you imagine that?" he said with a hint of self-irony.  
  
She smiled, shaking her head.  
  
"That is why I hesitated to go after the meeting," explained Severus. "I have been meaning to tell you about Nora. I have a feeling I had better share the story, after all these years. If you are willing to listen, that is."  
  
Hermione didn't reply immediately, but when she did, she agreed, hoping his tale would serve as a catalyst, or explain, illuminate one or the other thing. Her answer was dreaded as well as welcome.  
  
"Voldemort killed her," he began as abruptly as brutally. "But let me begin somewhere else, not at the end. When I got to know her better, she was close friends with Scarlet Tumsole."  
  
"Henrietta's mother, who runs Quills and Quartos," Hermione explained.  
  
Severus nodded, then he continued. "The two of them were in Ravenclaw, one year my junior. I don't know if they considered me a pet project the same way Lily Evans did. In any case, they were rather more welcome than Lily's efforts, because they - contrary to her - didn't attract the attention of Hogwarts' premier troublemakers. It is not that I don't appreciate Lily's good intentions." He paused to see if Hermione was still with him.  
  
"Or Nora's, for that matter," she added, irked a little by the pet project bit of his narration.  
  
"What is it with women wanting to make an effort with guys like me anyway? Greasy gits? Old, sarcastic bats?" Snape asked, mixing humour and the need to philosophise. Hermione wasn't so sure if they were merely rhetorical questions.  
  
"Weren't you going to tell me about Nora?" she reminded him, hoping as well as dreading that he hadn't changed his mind.  
  
"I was," he said as if startled from his thoughts. "So?"  
  
So he obviously needed time. What else was Hermione to do but oblige him? "I don't know, Severus. Maybe it's-"  
  
"-the need, no, the urge to better such a person?" Severus suggested. Hermione was wondering what he had been drinking, but could not overlook for the sake of her the allusion he was making to Shakespeare.  
  
"No, it's more the desire to understand the person, and see what's hidden inside that shell," she hurried to explain, lest he put more words in her mouth. When he remained silent, she added, "Isn't a mystery so much more challenging than an open book?"  
  
"What's when the challenge is gone? When you have found what you've been looking for?"  
  
"Enjoy it," Hermione answered simply and a tad naïvely. "But there'll always be things that remain mysteries. It's not like a total loss of self."  
  
"Oh, like you would know. You are how old, exactly?"  
  
"Twenty-four."  
  
"I bet you have read that in one of your clever books," he chided.  
  
Hermione did a double-take; she wondered if she had missed a part of the conversation. Why had he become so bitter all of a sudden? Had she said something wrong? She gazed, puzzled, at the last dregs of her hot chocolate on the bottom of her mug.  
  
The silence drew on like a thread of honey oozing from a spoon. It was uncomfortable. Severus got himself a glass of water with a flick of his wand. "I was getting carried away," he offered by way of an apology. "Well, for some reason or other, Nora's pet project turned out rather well. I have never felt better in my life than I did back then. It all became perverted, of course, when the war demanded we fight. I don't know why I joined. The Dark Side. To prove myself, maybe learn one thing or other from Voldemort - look where that got me - I don't know. Before I knew it, Nora was involved, too, once she'd passed her NEWTs. She was a clever girl, even by Ravenclaw standards. A part of her was Slytherin, but there was, of course, her good heart. Nora was a great person, emotionally wise."  
  
"And very talented," Hermione added, gesturing at the seascape painting that hung above the mantelpiece. Severus smiled, his bitterness forgotten as he looked fondly at the unmoving painting of a Mediterranean sunset.  
  
"Have you seen a photograph of her yet?" he suddenly asked. Hermione hadn't. A whispered "Accio silver picture frame!" had her picture zoom in from an adjacent room into Hermione's expecting hand. The photograph was developed to move, so Hermione found a woman roughly her age look at her curiously, but because of the limitations of wizarding developing emulsions, she remained silent. Nora looked special, but she wasn't a stunning beauty. She looked like a nice, pretty girl. She had shiny chestnut hair, incredibly green eyes, a smallish nose counterpointed by an energetic chin. Eventually, Nora waved shyly at Hermione.  
  
Hermione put Nora's photograph on an occasional table next to her armchair. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Severus' fond gazing at it. Strangely enough, she didn't experience a pang of jealousy as she had expected.  
  
"Yet she ended up a Death Eater, a dead Death Eater," Severus said.  
  
"Why did Voldemort kill her?"  
  
"It turned out she was working as a spy, for the Ministry," he explained bitterly.  
  
Hermione looked at him aghast. How coul-  
  
She must have voiced her thought, for: "Well, that is something we have been asking ourselves time and again. It seems she was not the only case, but there is no way to prove that. The Ministry and Dumbledore are not on the best of terms. Somehow Voldemort found out, and he killed her for it. But I found out, too, and when I did - I woke. I cannot explain to you why I was with the Death Eaters. Certainly not for fun. They used me, my knowledge. I never was of their opinion regarding racism. They offered me a chance to work on things I found interesting."  
  
"The Dark Arts," Hermione said. It was no secret that Snape had been hoping for a teaching position in that subject for years.  
  
"Yes."  
  
Hermione took her chance to quickly mull things over. It meant that ... "So you never encouraged anyone to join?"  
  
"No. I knew what they were up to."  
  
"Yet you worked for them!?" Incredulity and lack of understanding mingled in Hermione's tone.  
  
"I was ... in the background, a mere ... supplier, researcher, as it were." His halting explanation made quite plain the fact that he couldn't understand his own motives himself. Hermione wasn't so sure if that cleared him. "There were challenges, intellectual challenges. I was so engrossed in them that I failed to realise their potential."  
  
That didn't sound at all like the conscientiously working Snape Hermione knew. He used to make his students realise what the consequences might be if they made mistakes, or what the usage of some potion or other entailed if combined with another or modified. It was his aim to make them see, understand, what they were doing so they could develop - well, at least he did so in his NEWTs classes. But that didn't change anything about his general credo. Hadn't he nearly poisoned Trevor once to demonstrate, hadn't he always described every last gory detail of the effects of a potion gone wrong?  
  
"I know," he agreed, seeming to know exactly what Hermione was thinking. "Youth isn't really an excuse, is it?" He exchanged glances with Hermione. "It was then that I decided to change sides. But I knew the Ministry couldn't be trusted. They had given up on Nora when ... So I went to Dumbledore. I guess you know the rest."  
  
Hermione nodded. "What about the other Ministry spies?"  
  
Severus made a gesture of unknowing. "Never heard of them again, and I couldn't figure out who they were - or are, for that matter."  
  
"How many people know about these Ministry spies?"  
  
"Dumbledore and me, if you're talking about normal people."  
  
"And some officials."  
  
He nodded, but added: "I wouldn't trust them, though, to stand up for their people in case of trouble. They didn't with Nora." His bitterness was different this time, and certainly not directed at her. "The worst thing is there is no way of letting her family - and most of all Scarlet - know. Naturally, they blame it all on me."  
  
"But I reckoned you got on well with Mrs Tumsole?"  
  
"I do, but that wasn't always the case. She was one of the few who believed me when I told them I did nothing whatsoever to recruit Nora. I still can't go to Italy for fear of being one of the main protagonists in a classic vendetta."  
  
Choosing to overhear what she deemed not-so-classic, Hermione said, "Still you would like to tell Mrs Tumsole the whole, true story." She didn't need an answer to this question.  
  
"I even thought about writing an article for 'The Quibbler', but that would be a death sentence for whoever may be left. People like Voldemort tend to believe things printed in that rag," Severus told her.  
  
Having recovered from a good laugh, Hermione said, "You're joking, right?"  
  
__ 


	31. Wings

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Three  
  
Wings  
  
Their conversation turned to more pleasurable topics after that, but despite everything - chocolate, classic wizarding and Muggle literature, a particularly interesting article in the latest edition of The Tempest - the Ministry spies remained hovering close to the surface of Hermione's mind. She simply couldn't forget about them, and she wondered if Severus had been right to tell her. If anything happened, she wouldn't be able to protect whoever was left of that group. And she wondered about practically everything the idea of Ministry spies entailed. Until she fell asleep in her chair in Severus' living-room. The silence had once again stretched like caramel, and this time it was long enough to send Hermione to sleep. Too much had happened that day.  
  
Severus didn't have it in him to wake her and send her to her own bed. So a whispered "Mobilicorpus" had her float to a more comfortable settee, where he covered her with an additional blanket from his closet. He looked down at her sleeping form for a while. She looked so ... restful. Peaceful was the wrong term, even for her. Too many things were troubling her, things that shouldn't be troubling her, but hadn't this been this way ever since she had become friends with Potter and Weasley? He didn't blame them, but he could imagine for her a life closer to normal. But ... if it hadn't been for Potter and Weasley, how was he to tell where life would have taken her?  
  
He smiled, then brushed away an errant lock that must be tickling her lower lip. It would have tickled him. From the shadows behind him, Tenebrae jumped on the settee to share her sleep with Hermione. She made herself comfortable in the crook that was formed by Hermione's drawn-up knees and her chest.  
  
Severus raised his eyebrows. Tenebrae had never chosen to sleep anywhere else but his bed since she had joined him, and he deemed her very picky when it came to her choosing company. "Very well, then," he whispered, then retired into his own room.  
  
He didn't wish her good night. It was ... something very intimate. But he didn't mean to be rude. Sharing his sleep with another person was an act of trust he still couldn't muster, even not with Hermione. So each of them would be safe, he in his bed, she on his settee.  
  
He had charmed the settee to enlarge its seat lest she fall off it in her sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
Sunday dawned on Hogwarts a cloudless but crisply cool day. Hermione woke early, at first unable to tell where she was. There was no memory of getting into bed, and the answer came up in the shape of Snape's name in her mind. She had stayed the night on Snape's settee. It was ... a strange reckoning to wake to, to realise that she had spent a night in the same place as her former, forbidding Potions Master. Yet she had stayed the night on Snape's settee. Covered, even, in a warm blanket.  
  
This was an idea of Snape that had until then only hesitantly, haltingly developed in her thoughts, despite Nora. It was just so strange to understand Snape as a living creature, capable of love and care. The musings weighed her down into the seat of the settee, and she flung an arm across her forehead.  
  
She was startled out of her reverie by a weight suddenly adding itself to the dent in the upholstery of the settee. Hermione sat up to see Tenebrae bathing next to her, licking away some stray drops of milk from an early breakfast.  
  
"Good morning."   
  
Severus' voice had come from the door that led to an adjacent room, most likely his bedroom. Hermione flushed and sat up. She probably looked utterly dishevelled, puffy-eyed, with a crude cobweb of the cushions' creases imprinted on her cheek. "Good morning," she returned, withdrawing the elastic band from her plait. She ran her hands through her hair. There, that was probably better.  
  
"I hope the bedding wasn't too uncomfortable," Severus offered. He was in shirtsleeves and his usual black trousers, and his hair had a surprisingly flyaway fluffiness about it.  
  
"Not at all, thank you."  
  
"Well, I guess we'll see each other at breakfast then?" he asked by way of dismissing her. It seemed a bit rude, although he couldn't - didn't - mean it that way. It was just that Hermione had to change and use the convenience of her own bathroom. It was just a little ... abrupt.  
  
"What time is it?" Hermione said, already checking her own watch. It was a bit early to rise for a Sunday.  
  
Severus hesitated. He crossed the room and sat in an armchair that completed the seating arrangement in front of the fireplace. "Would you like something now? Tea? Brioche?"  
  
"Tea would be great," Hermione said, folding the blanket.  
  
The tea having arrived, Hermione asked through a cloud of steam curling up from her mug, "What are your plans for today?"  
  
"I was hoping to fly," he said curtly, as if he needed her approval.  
  
Hermione nodded, not in approval, but in agreement. "Are you feeling up to it?"  
  
Severus remained silent at first, but eventually he said, "Now is as good a time as any for it." It was a lie, a small, whitish lie. He couldn't bring himself to tell her about his arm; however, he felt reasonably well.  
  
"Are you going now?"  
  
She was having a point. Most of the castle would still be asleep this early on a Sunday morning. The sun had just passed the edge of the mountains. Severus nodded.  
  
"I'll go with you," Hermione decided. "Accio winter-cloak."  
  
~*~  
  
"Wouldn't it be wise to ask Minerva along?" Hermione suggested as they went past the Quidditch stadium. The morning air was indeed chilly, and she was glad that she had left her scarf and gloves in the sleeves of her cloak. Severus, too, was clad in warm clothing. His scarf was black rather than the Slytherin emerald and silver, and he was wearing black leather gloves. His cheeks had taken on a rosy hue from the cold, and their breath came out in puffy little clouds.  
  
Hermione was thinking of the incident of Saturday before last. Who knew what happened in a deliberate transformation? Everything could go well, but it might as well turn out not so well. Hermione didn't dare imagine the worst.  
  
Severus didn't reply for a while as they hurried on, the frozen grass crunching beneath their shoes. "We will make a fire. I will need the warmth to recover from the flight, it is a rather chilly affair. Here is a bit of Flourish Floo Powder." He passed her a small pouch without further explanation. It contained a special brand of Floo Powder that, if thrown into a fire outside the Floo network, would connect the user immediately to a fireplace within the network. Hermione had read about the Floo Fire Flourish before, but had never used one so far. The spell, however, was quite naturally clear in her mind. She put the pouch carefully away into one of her pockets.  
  
"Tell Minerva to call on Poppy," Severus added, then continued on.  
  
They wanted to get as far away from the castle as possible without having to leave the school premises. There was a patch of lawn behind the Quidditch stadium that could not be seen even from the Astronomy Tower.   
  
Severus stopped there, and simply stood, probably in preparation for his transfiguration. As far as Hermione could tell he wasn't as experienced an Animagus as Sirius. Or maybe he was gauging the situation.  
  
He watched Hermione light a small non-smoking, waterproof fire. He was a bit apprehensive of putting his plan into effect, to say the least. But he also knew that he had to try and fly unless they wanted to abandon this line of inquiries; which was something they could not afford. It was their only feasible approach left. Either the Raven's blood was immune to the effects of Nagini's venom, or it was not. He was well aware of the fact that Pettigrew's silver hand transformed into a silver paw. Yet there was no way to tell if his paralysed arm would turn into a paralysed wing, given the transfiguration was successful. Severus had to try.  
  
Severus exchanged glances with Hermione. They had not talked much on their way here, and he did not feel like talking now. He did not want her verbal encouragement. Her eyes were telling him what he wanted to see.  
  
Severus inhaled deeply, and he was about to initiate the transfiguration, when he felt her hand on his good arm. He looked at her. She was standing on tiptoe and kissed him briefly on the lips. The touch was so brief that he couldn't tell if her lips were warm or cold or moist. He just new that it felt wonderful.  
  
"Well then," he murmured.  
  
Hermione remained silent. She took a few steps back to allow him some space.  
  
Again, Severus inhaled deeply, eyes closed.  
  
Then, everything happened so quickly that afterwards, Hermione had no clear recollection of what had happened exactly.  
  
Severus' hair and clothes changed into jet-black feathers while he was changing height, long feathers emerged from his gloved fingers and his shoes changed into sharply taloned claws. His face changed shape as well, and what Hermione at first thought was his mouth opened in a painful cry was in fact becoming a beak opened to gulp in air into the new Raven's lungs.  
  
A Raven sat in front of her on the frosted lawn, the left wing hanging limply as if it didn't belong to the bird.  
  
Hermione's heart sank. So their last hope turned out just that, a hope, an illusion even.  
  
The Raven cawed hoarsely, his dark eyes fixed on the towering woman in front of him.  
  
He could move his wing.  
  
Severus couldn't believe it. The muscles in his wing really obeyed the commands they were receiving from his brain. It was a strange sensation, as if he were stiff, but soon enough, life returned into the limb. He folded his wing against his body, spread it again.  
  
The Raven cawed again.  
  
Hermione exclaimed her joy.  
  
Then the bird kicked off the ground and soared high up into the cloudless sky, around the Quidditch hoops first, then around the stands in the towers. He circled the flagpoles and played with the large pennants and streamers.  
  
Hermione had to shade her eyes with her hands in order to see him against the backdrop rising sun. Severus gained confidence the longer he flew, the more manoeuvres he accomplished. It looked so free and easy from where she was standing, and she could almost understand why a wizard would want to become an Animagus. It was man's dream of flight come true without the help of any machinery or gadgets. She laughed loudly in joy for him. For the first time after all these months he could move freely again.  
  
Envy she did not feel. She simply wasn't made for mounting a broom and flying. Hermione's feet belonged on firm soil.  
  
Severus was drawing lazy circles above the Forbidden Forest now, then changed course and turned towards the castle. Just then, the odd owl was returning from an errant to or left from the Owlery. Severus dodged them artistically.  
  
Eventually, he returned to her.  
  
Hermione held out her right arm for him as if he were a falcon returning from his hunt. To her great surprise, he landed on it, perching on her lower arm. He gingerly dug his talons into the sleeve of her coat so as not to hurt her. It was, however, difficult for him to balance and so he took off again and landed on the ground.  
  
The young witch knelt next to the bird, a vacutainer in hand so she could take the blood sample they so badly needed. She could feel Severus' bird's heart beating frantically in his other, small body as she held him to get what she needed. Then she released him.  
  
Instants later, Severus was sitting in front of her.  
  
"That was amazing," he said breathlessly, shoving an errant lock out of his face.  
  
Before he could turn round, though, Hermione had flung her arms around him. He was so surprised by her hug that he returned the gesture instinctively.  
  
__ 


	32. Owl Post

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Four  
  
Owl Post  
  
During breakfast that Sunday, the atmosphere at the High Table was crackling with tension. Excited about the cryptic hint at good news, Felix accidentally sent a few sparks flying from his wand. They settled on Minerva's hat and singed a feather, but Sirius was present enough to avoid the worst. Giggles and laughter erupted at the front of the students' tables from those who had seen or been told.  
  
Hermione, now fresh from the bathroom, could almost not eat anything. Her impatience to go down to the lab and get started had her sipping absentmindedly at her tea; half a slice of toast lay on her plate, and it looked as if mice had been nibbling at it. Severus, on the other hand, tucked in heartily. The early-morning exercise had him ravenous. His appetite had returned with the realistic hope for finding a cure; besides, he looked a tad healthier than he had in the past weeks. Minerva found he was positively glowing with whatever he had done.  
  
None of the other staff knew what great news they were up to yet. Severus had been too hungry as to do without breakfast - a rare sign, for usually he preferred it the other way round. Even with his left arm back in its sling, he was in good spirits. His face wouldn't betray it, of course, but in the course of time, the others had learned to read his other expressions well enough to tell something wonderful was going on. They had not read this in twenty-four years.  
  
Hermione was glad when the owl post arrived. There were less owls on Sundays since only private post was being sent; quite a few students and teachers subscribed to various regular publications or conveniently relied on owl order services - quite a few of them favoured Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Neither Hermione nor Severus were among the recipients of post, but there were letters for Dumbledore and Sirius. Both of them delayed the start of the work on the blood sample.  
  
They all met in a room off the Great Hall after breakfast. Hermione was bursting with the good news, but Dumbledore was the first to speak. "I had a letter from Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"What does he want?" Sirius growled belligerently. A letter from Malfoy was not a good sign, particularly with Draco out of school.  
  
"He informs me of an inspection which will take place tomorrow morning."  
  
Severus snorted. "Espionage, more like." He massaged his bad arm. The strange, numb feeling had returned after a short absence, accompanied by a dull hint of pain.  
  
Albus looked at the Potions Master. "I agree. I'm advising caution, should you meet him. There is nothing we can do to turn him away." They all nodded. School inspections could be carried out on short notice or even unannounced.  
  
Then Sirius spoke up. "It seems I'll have to trouble you with unpleasant news, too," he began.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked anxiously. She hoped it wasn't anything about Harry.  
  
"Well, I've got an anonymous letter here," he produced it from a pocket in his robes as if to prove its existence. "A so-called friend happens to have watched Miss Tumsole and me talking to Thorolf. They also claim that a person from the Dark Side was observing us, too."  
  
Dumbledore stroked his beard. "I would have been surprised had it been otherwise."  
  
Severus was cradling his arm protectively, even gingerly by then. "I daresay Thorolf's painting is in potential danger. They will figure out sooner or later that the parchment from the painting is but a draft."  
  
"And they would, of course, want the real thing," Hermione concluded.  
  
"Hm," added Minerva, "I should think they'd want not only to lay hands on a final draft of the stolen parchment, but the book as a whole."  
  
Flitwick, his excitement having adapted to the new situation, concluded the thought thus: "That's the reason for Malfoy's inspection." When everybody looked at him in surprise, he elaborated. "He comes to find out about our proceedings, maybe even set eyes on The Grey Book."  
  
Severus got up with a start. "Of course. Felix, you are right. Obviously, Borgin can't provide them with what they need, and Voldemort's other sources have failed them, too."  
  
"Where is the book now?" Hermione asked. "I think it's safest to return it to the owner for as long as the inspection takes. Surely, Malfoy wouldn't think of inspecting their room?" She looked at Severus, who seemed slightly paler than usual. Funny, she thought, what with the successful flight ...  
  
"That might prove a good idea, my dear," agreed Albus.  
  
"I've got it in my private study," Felix said. "I take it you return it to the owner, Severus?" It wasn't a secret any more that Severus was the only one to know the owner of the resident copy of The Grey Book.  
  
But Severus didn't react. His face was twisted in pain as he clutched his left lower arm.  
  
"Is it Voldemort?" Black asked, knowing that the sleeve hid the Dark Mark.  
  
"No," grunted Severus. "Yes, I -" The rest of the sentence was garbled by an outcry of pain. Severus doubled over, clutching his hurting arm tightly to his body. Droplets of sweat began to pearl on his forehead, and when his hair parted in the nape of his neck it revealed raven feathers.  
  
"Severus!" Minerva knelt in front of him, grabbed him by the shoulders to prevent his falling off the chair. "Quick, tell Poppy we're coming!"  
  
~*~  
  
When Poppy and Minerva allowed her in, Hermione had no idea what to expect. She hastily threw the book she was leafing through - she couldn't properly focus on its contents - on the work table and hurried towards the door that connected the living room and the bedroom. Minerva stopped her with a gentle touch on the arm. "Don't be too long, dear," she asked her over the rim of her square spectacles. "And please come and see me for a cup of tea afterwards."  
  
"I will." Hermione flashed her a curt smile.  
  
Severus was sitting by the fireplace. A goblet was hovering next to him in mid-air, and instead of gently uncurling steam, a glowing red ring of script was revolving above the goblet's rim. It read, of course, something along the lines of "Drink this up!". Hermione had a suspicion that it was somehow connected to the potion's master; the writing would turn into a howler if the potion wasn't finished within a certain length of time. She smiled, despite everything.  
  
"Severus."  
  
"Hermione," came the dark reply.  
  
She wouldn't let him impress her by that. Hermione sat in the chair next to him. He looked awful; she had never seen him so pale, and he was breathing in air in short, small gulps as if he were a bird. His brow looked damp. Most disconcerting of all, however, were the odd patches of jet-black feathers that had grown on his skin. Hermione was sure that there were more such patches covering the rest of his body.  
  
"It was too much asking of my body," Severus began.  
  
"So you knew about this eventually happening," Hermione said, surprisingly calm.  
  
"It was worth it, I hope." He had raised his voice askance.  
  
Hermione hesitated. "I don't know."  
  
"Excuse me?" Fury was back in his voice.  
  
She almost hated herself for saying what she had to say; she knew she was being unprofessional. "I couldn't bring myself to start working on the antidote until I knew what happened to you."  
  
Silence ensued.  
  
"I'm as fine as I can be, given the situation. Please start working on the antidote as soon as possible." He looked at her from eyes that reminded her strongly of the raven's. Hermione could still feel his small bird's body in her hands, the fluttering sensation of his rapid heartbeat.  
  
"I wanted to wait," she began. "I didn't want to start without you."  
  
"Well, that's what you'll have to do, Miss Granger," Severus murmured, his voice raspy. "I am not much of a help at this moment. I am confident Poppy and Felix will-"  
  
Something constricted within her. What was he telling her? What did he mean? Why the formality all of a sudden? "Severus, I-"  
  
"We can't continue like this," he said, voice raised. "Tiptoeing around each other like we've been, we have not managed to accomplish much lately, have we?"  
  
Hermione still had trouble comprehending what he was telling her. But what of this morning? The triumph of the flight accomplished? The embrace? A response was smothered in her throat.  
  
"Poppy will continue the treatment of my arm, beginning tomorrow," Severus added. He wouldn't look at her, and he spoke uncharacteristically softly.  
  
Eventually, Hermione had regained command over her thoughts and voice. "Why?"  
  
Severus looked at her. "If you can't see, Miss Granger-"  
  
He grabbed the goblet and buried his face in its wide opening.  
  
"Oh but I do, Mr Snape," Hermione said bitterly. Love was blind. She wasn't. Part of her understood, part of her couldn't grasp a syllable of what he had said. "I just see something different, I'm afraid. Well, I wish you a speedy recovery," she said coldly, stood abruptly, then left.  
  
From the corner of her eye she saw him covering his face with his hand.  
  
~*~  
  
"Professor Granger?"  
  
Hermione's organs of emotion were still reeling with sadness and anger as she was hurrying down the hallway towards Gryffindor Tower, where she was expected by Minerva. She stopped when she noticed Ri's voice addressing her.  
  
"Yes, Miss Tumsole?" She breathed deeply to regain some of her composure.  
  
"I heard about Professor Snape," the girl confessed. "I wasn't eavesdropping, I just couldn't help overhearing-"  
  
"That's quite all right, Miss Tumsole," Hermione reassured her. "Just keep it to yourself, please, yes?"  
  
"Of course, Professor," Ri replied in obvious relief. "Can I talk to you? It's kind of urgent."  
  
Hermione looked hard at her student. Henrietta Tumsole was to be trusted, of that there was no doubt, particularly since she was under Severus' wings. The girl looked earnest enough. "Is this about our problem?"  
  
Ri nodded.  
  
"I was just on my way to Professor McGonagall's office. Why don't you join us there in a couple of minutes?" Hermione suggested.  
  
A couple of minutes later, after the usual rituals that accompanied visits, Hermione came straight to the point. "I don't understand him," she ranted.  
  
"Few don't, dear," Minerva replied calmly. "What happened?"  
  
Hermione related to the older woman what had just passed between Severus and her during her brief visit with him. Just when Minerva was about to reply, there was a sharp knock on the door. "That'll be Miss Tumsole. She needs to talk to us, and obviously, it's quite urgent," Hermione explained.  
  
"Come in!" called Minerva.  
  
As soon as Miss Tumsole was settled comfortably in a chair with a cup of tea on her knees, the words began to pour out of her. All Minerva and Hermione gathered from the hurried report was that her excitement had something to do with a letter and Thorolf the Thoughtful.  
  
"Calmly, girl," Minerva said, making her drink some tea first. "Now, catch your breath, and then tell us what this is all about."  
  
They waited more or less patiently for her to recover.  
  
"I received a letter from Thorolf the Thoughtful this morning," Ri began anew. The letter had been sent to her via ways that lay hidden in the world of paintings. Since painting-persons could travel from painting to painting, so could news, of course, and letters. Ri produced a small picture frame from within her robes, and handed it out to the teachers. Matter, of course, couldn't leave a painting, but a real person could have a small frame on their person. It would have been easier had there been a painting of Thorolf's at Hogwarts. The mediaeval wizard could simply have travelled between his York painting and his Hogwarts painting.  
  
Minerva perused the framed letter, then handed it to Hermione.  
  
Dear Miss Tumsole,  
  
forgive me for disturbing you in your Sunday rest, but I reckon that the urgency of my news warrants my writing to you.  
  
It was brought to my attention that our conversation, for which I am very grateful, it was truly delightful, was overheard by a real person. I may be old but I was fully aware of the fact that Mrs Diggory went out of her way to make sure that we were undisturbed. I assume I am correct to reckon that there was more to your little interview than you let on.  
  
Please find enclosed a copy of the sheaves stolen from my painting. A mere list of the spells in question seems a little meagre for your purposes. I remember every single line I wrote about the spells, so you can rest assured that you need not worry about mistakes.  
  
I would appreciate it if you told me about your proceedings.  
  
So I remain faithfully yours  
  
Thorolf  
  
"This confirms Professor Black's letter," Hermione murmured.  
  
"You won't have to travel to York again, Miss Tumsole," Minerva decided. "As we can see, a journey like that would be far too dangerous. Now we have the full text of the first draft. Thank you, Miss Tumsole."  
  
Ri blinked.  
  
"Is that it?"  
  
"Well, what else did you expect?" Minerva asked, took off her glasses and cleaned them with a soft cloth she had drawn from one of her pockets.  
  
Ri coloured slightly.  
  
Hermione pitied the girl. After all that she had done to help, this was it. There was no more to be done. "You were a great help, Miss Tumsole, and we greatly appreciate it. But I'm afraid this is all you could do for us."  
  
Ri knew better than to ask if she could possibly learn what this was all about. Naturally. Why had she indulged in the hope of finding out anyway? She wasn't Harry Potter; she wouldn't go finding out despite everything. She probably wouldn't want to know if she found out.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ri replied, finishing her tea.  
  
"Believe me, dear, you don't want to know what this is all about," Minerva reassured her. "And don't be sorry."  
  
Ri smiled, then got up and left without taking the letter with her.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm very relieved," she said. Like the others, she hadn't wanted Ri Tumsole to go back to York, particularly now that they knew that Black and her hadn't been there unaccompanied.  
  
Minerva agreed. They sat in silence for a while, until Minerva returned to the topic they had been talking about prior to Miss Tumsole's arrival.  
  
"He is a man of deep passion, Hermione," Minerva said in an uncharacteristic non sequitur. "Frankly, I am surprised he would let you into his life as far as he has."  
  
Hermione furrowed her brow. What was Minerva getting at?  
  
"He's in love with you, Hermione."  
  
__ 


	33. Death Eater's Mask

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Five  
  
Death Eater's Mask  
  
Minerva's words wouldn't leave Hermione alone, quite naturally so. The older witch had pronounced rather unequivocally what had been hovering just below the surface of the younger witch's mind. Hermione had always prided herself in her emotional intelligence, so when she couldn't admit what she had known all along it came to her as a shock. There was no doubt about her feelings for Severus. She had fallen in love with him. Yet there had been no way for her to know if her feelings were being returned; there had been a feeling about that, but a woman like Hermione needed to know for sure.  
  
Now she did.  
  
At first, she had returned to her own office after her visit with Minerva. She had taken the frame with her since she had intended on comparing the notes with The Grey Book, but then she remembered that Severus probably had the book returned to its owner.  
  
Truth be told, it was just as well since she wouldn't have been able to concentrate on her work anyway. Not after what she had learned.  
  
So she found herself standing in front of Nora Loredan's door without knowing how she had got or when she had decided to go there. She rapped softly on the door.  
  
She was surprised when it opened, since she had assumed that he would send her away by not answering. A small cry escaped her when she saw him.  
  
He was wearing a cloak, the hood pulled up. The dim light from the corridor shimmered on his polished silver skin. His Death Eater's mask.  
  
"You scared me!" Hermione cried angrily.  
  
Severus removed his mask to reveal his face covered in more feathers than before. "What about this?" He took a step towards her, and Hermione automatically took a step back. It was scary, true, but ever since her little accident with Polyjuice Potion she was not shaken by a half-human face anymore. Theoretically.  
  
"How did you know it was me and not some of Voldemort's cronies?" snapped Severus.  
  
"Oh, please," Hermione sighed, sick of her lectures on Hogwarts security.  
  
"What if Voldemort found a solution to his problem and his cronies could now appear anywhere without further notice?" hissed Severus.  
  
A cold shiver ran down her spine. She hadn't thought about this at all. Why would she? It seemed so ludicrous. Why should Voldemort come up with a solution when it was clear that he couldn't? The probability of his suddenly and luckily finding another mastermind was astronomically small.  
  
"May I come in?" she asked composedly.  
  
"No."  
  
Hermione sighed. "I've got a copy of Thorolf's first draft here." She held the picture frame out for proof.  
  
"Good for you," rumbled Severus. Then he closed the door in her face.  
  
"Scarecrow," she hissed and turned on her heel.  
  
Then she heard the door open, almost expecting him to send a comment like "I heard that!" after her, but he only said: "Go to Flitwick, he has the book."  
  
Hermione hadn't turned around, just stopped. She clutched the small frame to her chest. If Snape really loved her, he had a darn strange way of showing her. Strangely enough, she had both the presence and clarity of mind to see what was behind Snape's changing façade. After he had told her the story about Nora, it had become quite clear that he didn't want to endanger her by suggesting to the Death Eaters that he was in a happy relationship with the one woman who could help him solve the riddle. Hermione realised that she would make an excellent means of exerting pressure should Voldemort decide that they weren't working well (meaning, of course, fast) enough. That was why she was at Hogwarts.  
  
As realisation hit, she stopped again.  
  
It was the other way round. At first, she had been invited to teach at Hogwarts for some other reason, maybe for the sake of teaching only - the problem was she knew Albus Dumbledore. There must have been something else. But then Severus had been bitten, and other necessities had arisen, like finding an antidote. It was only then that Severus had fallen in love with her. So it turned out they had been lucky to have her at the right spot at the right time. Hogwarts was her golden cage for as long as this lasted.  
  
But how long was this going to last?  
  
Despite herself, Hermione had to admit that Dumbledore had acted wisely. It would have been nice, though, to involve her more, id est telling her what was going on right from the start.  
  
Oh yes, but it was all about safety and security.  
  
She turned on her heel and marched back to Nora Loredan's door. Quite what she was going to tell Snape she didn't know yet. But she felt patronised and that was something she would not allow. It was bad enough that she had only realised now what was going on.  
  
Surprisingly enough, the door opened. This time, Severus had got rid of his macabre masquerade. He looked at her as if she were a student, meaning to impress her so far as that she reconsidered asking the question and, in the end, decided against it. It didn't work.  
  
"Why am I here?"  
  
"Good question."  
  
"What was the plan before Nagini bit you?" Hermione was utterly calm in her anger. She did not want to give Severus the advantage of calmness. She had surprise on her side.  
  
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Ms Granger."  
  
"Of course not," Hermione sneered.  
  
They stared each other down until the feather-masked gave in. He stepped aside to let her enter. All for the sake of confidentiality. He gestured for her to sit and even provided her with a tumbler of Ogden's.  
  
"You realised that when? Now?" he wondered aloud, but he didn't want an answer. "Not bad at all. But then you were always the one to raise your hand in class; first and always."  
  
Hermione looked at him from over the rim of her glass. "You'll have to teach me how to turn compliments into insults once this is over."  
  
Silence ensued, but she could see a silken blue smile tug at the corner of his mouth.  
  
"So?"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't tell you."  
  
Hermione glared at him.  
  
"For security reasons. Believe me."  
  
Where did that come from?  
  
Hermione decided, after a long silence, that maybe he was right. He was right. She knew enough to compromise people whose existence was top secret. It had been her pride talking. Reason, however, told her that it was better this way. She knew too much already, better not jeopardise even ... well, whatever it was.  
  
"Is that the first draft?" Severus eventually asked, his gaze fixed on the frame sitting on the occasional table next to Hermione's empty tumbler.  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Well, show me already, then!"  
  
Hermione laughed.  
  
~*~  
  
The love-issue remained unresolved that night, but at least it had not gotten any worse. Felix joined them soon enough with 'their' edition of The Grey Book. But instead of working on a comparison of the two versions, they concentrated on finding a way of making Severus presentable for the upcoming day. There was no way he would cancel his classes in general, and particularly not so what with Malfoy's inspection, but there was also no way he would betray his secret to the public. Enough people knew already, and he knew that once this was over he was facing trial because he was an unregistered Animagus. For all he cared, that was a soon enough point of time for everyone to know.  
  
Shaving off the feathers wasn't an option. In the affected patches the nature of his skin had already changed to avian skin, and neither of them wanted to risk any further damage. Fingerless gloves worked fine for his hands, so much was sure. His facial feathers were more of a problem. The idea of wearing his Death Eater's mask was readily dismissed-  
  
"Although, this might not be all that bad an idea," Hermione conceded.  
  
"What do you mean?" Severus asked.  
  
"Polyjuice Potion, of course."  
  
"Only if you happen to have some left, that is," Felix said. "Also, it might turn out faulty, what with your changed biochemistry."  
  
"There must be some hairs left in my hairbrush," Severus said. "From before this whole fiasco."  
  
Hermione had a hard time concealing her smirk. The idea of Snape's using a hairbrush - well, let's not be childish, she chided herself. Of course he would use toiletries, however effeminate that might seem. He was a man who took advantage of the unusual if the end justified the means.  
  
"Do you have any Polyjuice Potion left?" she asked; a welcome diversion.  
  
"No. There's no need for it - on my side, that is."  
  
"Isn't there anything in books about Animagi?" Felix wondered. He was getting frustrated by the notion that for all the sophistication of the wizarding world, there was no solution easily available now. Now that they were under pressure.  
  
"Even if we found something it would need testing. My situation is quite unprecedented," Severus explained. He had of course studied enough books and essays concerning Animagi; it went with being one, of course, being a good one. There was little use in being anything, for that matter, without knowing one's possibilities, capabilities and limitations.  
  
"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to try something, unless, of course, you'd like everyone to know," Hermione pointed out.  
  
Felix agreed. "There's an ancient spell, the Mirror's Memory Mask."  
  
"Let me guess: The Grey Book," Severus murmured.  
  
"No, I mean a really ancient spell," Felix explained, totally unimpressed by the other's gibe. "It's Egyptian. It is based on the memory of mirrors, which is truthful to the last nasal hair. You take that memory, wrap it in an appearance charm and what you get is a mask that only works in the mind of the observer. The charm clings to you like scent without actually altering your appearance physically."  
  
"A mind game," Severus clarified. He loved mind games.  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Sounds promising," Hermione agreed. "Is it hard?"  
  
Felix hesitated. "I would rather I performed it for you, Severus." Felix wasn't the type to boast with the quality of his spell-work, but he made no secret of his pride of it.  
  
"Go ahead." The Potions Master invited him with a gallant gesture.  
  
~*~  
  
Lucius Malfoy arrived early on Monday morning, just when everyone was filing out of the Great Hall after breakfast. He was met with curious and - from those who knew him - hostile glances. When he met him, Dumbledore was all the welcoming host. Minerva always had a hard time being gracious to somebody she disliked, particularly if she disliked the person in question with a passion as she did Lucius Malfoy.  
  
"Let's go up to my office for a second breakfast," Albus suggested, gesturing invitingly for the younger man to come with him. He wanted to keep the inspector away from classes as long as possible.  
  
"Ah, I think I will take you up on your offer a little later," Lucius declined with false regret. "I was hoping to visit with Severus' first Potions class this morning."  
  
Dumbledore had of course seen this coming. "That would be Year Seven Gryffindor and Slytherin."  
  
"The advanced course," Lucius commented condescendingly. "Well, I will find my way. Until later then."  
  
Dumbledore looked pensively after the school board's chairman. Well, at least he knew that Severus had found a way to make Lucius believe that everything seemed in perfect order. Just how he had accomplished that, he would have to wait to learn about.  
  
Lucius parted the students' crowd almost as effectively and swiftly as Severus, but contrary to the Potions Master, he didn't inspire fearful awe. All he elicited from the pupils were wondering glances and whispers.  
  
In the dungeon classroom he settled in one of the two places in the back row that remained empty. Some of the students, mostly Slytherin, looked at him curiously, but he ignored them from behind a mask of bored petty gentry.  
  
Presently Severus strode in, robes billowing energetically in his wake. Lucius leaned forward in sudden peaked interest, supporting himself on his walking stick. Severus rustled with a stack of parchments on his desk, gathered up a pile of homework and turned to face his audience. He immediately found Lucius sitting in the gloomy recess of the back row and acknowledged his presence with a curt nod.  
  
Severus looked as he always did. Lucius couldn't bring himself to call the other man's looks healthy even when he knew it to be true. There was no outward sign of sickness in the man's features. So the poison hadn't wrought havoc beyond Severus' shoulder. His left arm was cradled in its sling, useless and limp as it was. Lucius found the sling neither impressive nor forbidding or even pitiable. The way the useless hand dangled, it looked more like he had given up.  
  
Which was not good at all.  
  
Lucius paid very little attention to the lesson or Snape's teaching abilities. He was too preoccupied with the possible prospect of failure. Of course he didn't admit to it openly, but maybe this time the Dark Lord had gone a step too far and had overestimated Snape - and himself. The idea behind it all was still brilliant enough; Apparating without sound and without having to worry about security spells was too enticing a concept to give up. It would open every door to the Dark Lord. And his loyal followers. No. They mustn't give up.  
  
When the students prepared for brewing a potion and everyone had risen from their seat, Lucius approached Severus, who was collecting homework that was due this morning.  
  
"Lucius," Severus greeted him coldly. He looked perfectly calm. As always.  
  
"May I have a word with you?" Lucius asked, toying with his walking stick.  
  
"This is not a particularly good moment, unless, of course, you're interested in witnessing how some of the more precious ingredients are being spoiled," Severus said. Which wasn't exactly true, since this class were one of the best. But he was of the opinion that keeping the students on their toes kept chaos at bay. Too much praise impaired their attention, and, having praised very rarely, Severus didn't think it a good idea to start praising them now lest he startle them and thus impair their attention.  
  
Lucius almost wrinkled his nose. "Maybe we could meet later, then?"  
  
They could. Lucius returned to the Dungeons after a stroll through the school, during which he had ample time to sneak around. Severus knew that Lucius wouldn't find anything, yet he was irritated by the fact that this man had the power to sneak around just because he was rich enough to buy the school board chairman's seat. When Lucius entered his office, however, he felt superior. He had nothing to hide down here. The Grey Book was safely among Felix' books, and those weren't of interest to Malfoy.  
  
"It was brought to my attention that one of the students was allowed a Floo connection to a fireplace in Hogsmeade?" Lucius rather informed than asked him. He sat in a straight-backed chair that faced Severus' more comfortable chair across a massive desk.  
  
Severus raised his eyebrow. "Then it must have been brought to your attention incorrectly. None of our students maintains any such connection." Not any more. Black had been sensible enough to point this out the day before, and the connection was severed immediately. Naturally, Mrs Tumsole and Miss Tumsole would be utterly surprised if asked after their linked fireplaces - ridiculous question as it was. No one was allowed to have their fireplace linked to any within the castle walls. Everybody knew that.  
  
"And you would know of that, of course," Lucius said, just to hide his anger. It was clear that this had been trumps.  
  
A pity the man hadn't learned anything in all these years, Severus thought. Lucius had always been too impatient. "Is this why you came for a surprise inspection?"  
  
What was he to answer? He remained silent.  
  
"I have homework to mark and lessons to prepare, Lucius. An inquiry with the Floo Network Authorities would have saved us precious time."  
  
"You have not changed a bit, Severus," Lucius replied silkily. "No sense of hospitality."  
  
"Wouldn't it get me into trouble if I were especially hospitable to the chairman of the school board during an inspection?"  
  
Lucius took a deep breath, his knuckles straining the leather of his gloves as his fingers gripped his walking stick harder. "I meant to offer my assistance regarding your injury."  
  
Severus nearly snorted. "And that would be what, exactly?" He had a feeling that he was gaining the upper hand again. What was he playing at? He couldn't possibly really mean to help him - unless, of course, the Dark Lord was becoming ever more impatient for results.  
  
"I was hoping you would ask me for something in particular," Lucius asked, his voice firm, his pretext feeble.  
  
And thus give away our current research, Severus added silently. He had to be careful. Next, Voldemort would try to trespass on his mind if Lucius came back empty-handed. "Why do you think you of all people could help? Don't you think that if I knew what exactly to ask I wouldn't have attempted to get by it by myself already? Do you think that this," he gestured at his limp arm, "is very convenient?"  
  
"No sense of gratitude, either," Lucius commented, rising from his chair.  
  
~*~  
  
"They are desperate," Hermione said that evening. Malfoy had long since left the school, and now she and Severus were sitting in front of the fireplace in his living-room.  
  
"Desperate enough to come and offer help," Severus pointed out. "And worry that we might give up."  
  
They remained silent for a while.  
  
"What if we did?"  
  
"What? Give up?" Severus asked incredulously. Even if it was just pretending to do so they were talking about (which they were, Hermione assured him of that), it would be highly dangerous. "Voldemort wouldn't accept it. Too much is at stake here. Nagini's venom is too precious as though he would give up on it. He would force us to find a cure." They had discussed this before. It wasn't an option.  
  
"What about the Tumsoles and their Floo connection? Won't he be able to access records that indicate that there actually was a connection?" Hermione changed topics.  
  
"No, because Albus had them disconnected." And that was it. If Albus called in favours they could rest assured that they were properly done. The connection had disappeared from any records by now, and thus had never existed.  
  
"How do you feel?" she asked. Thanks to the masking spell Felix had cast on him, Severus looked as he always did, the perfect reflection of his twin in the mirror. She couldn't tell if he was tired.  
  
"I'll be glad to take it off," he replied, as if he knew exactly rather than assumed what Hermione was talking about.  
  
"You can take it off now if you want, don't worry about me," Hermione said, afraid that she was keeping him from relaxing.  
  
"I think I'd rather not."  
  
Hermione looked at him. After all that had happened, despite his love for her, he still couldn't trust her. It cut deeply into her. How would he ever learn to trust her if he never opened up to her and give her a chance to prove she could be confided in? If this was his love, then maybe Minerva had misunderstood romantic love for that of a father's or a brother's.  
  
"Well, then I think I'd better go now."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Good night."  
  
"Good night. Sweet dreams." The intimacy of his wish for her was comfortable, and long missed.  
  
__ 


	34. Tuesday Night

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Six  
  
Tuesday Night  
  
"It's over."  
  
Ada hugged her friend, then made her sit on her bed, where she had scattered some of her Astronomy books, star charts and instruments. She was doing her homework for Professor Sinistra. Her work was forgotten, however, as soon as Ri came to see her.  
  
"So they've found a cure?" Ada concluded.  
  
"I don't think so. They still need your book. No, it's over for me. They don't need my help any more. Getting too dangerous for all I know," Ri explained hastily. Then she told her about the talk she'd had with McGonagall and Granger. "I can't believe I said that," she added.  
  
"It came sort of suddenly, didn't it?" Ada agreed and passed her a mug of hot chocolate. They sat side by side, sipping the hot beverage. Its warmth spread comfortably in their bodies.  
  
"Here goes the book-person, until one day she's confronted with an adventure, with something to do, you know," Ri began eventually, thinking aloud; she could think aloud very well in Ada's company, who more often than not managed to keep up with the pace of her thoughts and non sequiturs. "And then," she snapped her fingers, "just like that, it's over."  
  
"Well, at least they told you how much they appreciated your work, didn't they," Ada, helpless, pointed out.  
  
"I did some real work for once," Ri continued. "Not just reading books and analysing them."  
  
Ada sighed. After a sip of hot chocolate, she said, "I think your work with the book club is very real. It's just not something tangible. It enriches the lives of quite a few people. And it's fun."  
  
"It seemed to mean so much to Granger and Snape."  
  
"I guess so. But don't underestimate the club. It's on a greater scale. Plus you're not Potter."  
  
Ri laughed for the first time since ... oh she didn't care to think about that. It was sad enough as it was. "You're right. It was probably just a small errand for them. Some research they won't need so much after all."  
  
Neither of them was convinced of the truth of Ri's last sentence, but both felt that the time had come to change topics. What else was there to be said that wasn't pure speculation. "Do you think Granger and Snape ... ?" Ada asked.  
  
"I don't know, I'm not so sure."  
  
"Perhaps they aren't, either," Ada mused. "Pity Lovers' Light went wrong."  
  
~*~  
  
"You look well, today, Severus, rested," Poppy said while Severus was taking a seat next to Hermione. Once again, they met in the Garden to discuss the antidote. By now the Garden was an ambiguous reminder of the past summer, and the warm light of candles, braziers and the firelight made them look forward to the next summer, even up North.  
  
"Raven is gone," he said curtly, putting some papers in front of him.  
  
"You mean ... for ever?" Hermione asked in alarm. She knew what it meant for an Animagus to have an animal alter ego (once they found them), and well imagined their loss.  
  
Severus looked at her, something warming inside him at this open display of concern. "I don't know yet." He covered his left hand with his right. "I don't think he's gone. I just don't need Felix' spell anymore."  
  
Hermione smiled. She was truly glad for this news. At least something improved. But she had a feeling that today they would make a breakthrough. It was something in the air, in the atmosphere of the room.  
  
"I think that's a good sign," said Poppy, who had only rejoined the group after Severus' problem with Raven.  
  
"And why would that be?" Severus asked. A wizard or witch didn't simply become an Animagus, they were born as Animagus. Some would find out in the course of their years, some wouldn't. And most found their kind (like Potter senior did). So you couldn't just lose your animal alter ego like you lose keys. It is part of you, a seventh sense, if you like. And if something was wrong with it, it was certainly not a good sign. Severus' tone was indignant, as if to question Poppy's expertise on Animagi.  
  
"It shows your body's strength and power to heal itself," Poppy argued, "with the help of Raven. There must be a very strong bond between you."  
  
"Does that mean that an antidote might be unnecessary?" asked Felix. His pedestal mat was floating near the painted canopy, a bright yellow spot against a backdrop of red and white stripes.  
  
"No, I don't think so. Severus' blood has been poisoned," Poppy explained.  
  
"Thank goodness there's someone among us who can actually spell it out clearly," Severus said acerbically. He was rewarded with The Frown by Hermione.  
  
"We're very close to finding the solution," Hermione dared to say. "Thorolf sent a copy of his first draft of The Grey Book to Miss Tumsole. It contains the recipe or recipes of spells that were used in Nagini's venom."  
  
"But not the antidotes to them," Felix pointed out.  
  
"No," Severus said, on a more positive train of thoughts, "because what they used was a combination of spells of a basically positive nature. There is no need for a counter spell to something like Traveller's Hex, is there?"  
  
"But Traveller's Hex was made for inanimate objects," Hermione explained. They all knew this, but this was becoming a think tank that gathered all the information they had. "And transferring it to the animate sphere is what gives us trouble."  
  
"Obviously, Thorolf found it quite a dilemma, too, or else he would have included a spell along those lines in his little book," Severus couldn't help commenting.  
  
"I think it's best if we started to reorganise our findings," Felix cut in. "Then we can put our notes together and create a think tank. Thus we might be able to see connections we haven't been able to spot yet."  
  
"Sounds reasonable," agreed Severus, in an effort to pull himself together. There was no use in being frustrated because it wouldn't get him anywhere but deeper into his self-made isolation; he wasn't the only one to be surprised at this.  
  
So they each bent over their notes and calculations and formulas, transcribed them into a form they considered inspiring and tried to make difficult points accessible to the others who might not be experts in certain areas.  
  
Felix compared the two versions of The Grey Book first, then tried to elaborate on the finer points of spell-weaving and the changes that might ensue if a flick of the wand or a word was changed.  
  
Severus worked on the potion part of Nagini's venom, trying to put into written form that which had poisoned his blood. He had to list several different solutions for different ingredients - one possible list of which he had got from Hermione.  
  
Who in turn had divined her list from her meticulous calculations. She, too, had more than one roll of parchment with possible options. Each was only so much different from the others, but there were so many factors to be reckoned with, most of all intuition which had guided the way the night the poisoning happened.  
  
Poppy analysed Severus' healthy blood and its poisoned as well as its Animagus version. She also took into account Mrs Granger's Muggle analysis.  
  
They were so engrossed in their work that the bell that rang to call everyone for tea went unnoticed, that the food that Albus had them sent was devoured hungrily but carelessly. Afterwards, none of them could tell what they had had for tea.  
  
"Dear me," Felix exclaimed at one point. He was standing on his enhanced chair to stretch his legs, looking at his pocket watch. It was linked securely to his waistcoat with a silver chain. "Is it this late already!?"  
  
One after another, his colleagues lifted their head, surprised at the disturbance. Hermione and Severus didn't know of the passage of time when they worked, of course. Their work was finished when they felt it was finished, not when two hands on a fancy face told them. Only Poppy looked at the tiny man with bleary eyes, relieved that some one had made the first step taken.  
  
"Well, are you going to tell us?" Severus asked mock-gruffly.  
  
"It's half past ten," Felix announced. "Time we checked on our students, don't you think?"  
  
Severus allowed for a half-smile. "Is it indeed."  
  
"Why don't we call it a night, then?" Poppy suggested. They had to get up early the next morning, after all, and there was nothing Poppy felt more strongly about than a decent amount of sleep. "We've come a far way tonight, I dare say. A break will do us good and we'll look at things differently tomorrow."  
  
Hermione stood and stretched. "That's a very good idea, Poppy."  
  
Severus stayed behind after Poppy and Felix had left the Garden. He watched Hermione put on her robe.  
  
She stepped up in front of him and looked at him bemused. "Well?" She wanted her bed. It had been a long day, and she was glad that she hadn't been working with Severus alone. Otherwise they would still be brooding over charts and textbooks and whatever else they needed for reference.  
  
Instead of an answer, Severus touched her cheek and with a subtle movement drew her closer towards him until their eyes closed and their lips met in a kiss.  
  
This time, however, it was a lasting kiss. Hermione's arms went around Severus' back as she pulled him closer to her, and when their lips opened she wanted to laugh with joy and her knees went deliciously wobbly. She hadn't felt that good in too long a time. Oh that man was a good kisser.  
  
There are some things you never forget. Her scent was so clean and warm and inviting, and when she sighed, something inside Severus burst open, and a darkness receded from the light pouring in - or out? He had almost forgotten the bliss of a simple kiss, had feared he had lost It -- the skill, the feeling, the instinct, of how and when to kiss a woman.  
  
Would it be easier now to open up to her?  
  
"Hermione, I-" he began after the kiss had ended. His palm was still cupping her cheek, he could feel her smile and her happiness.  
  
Hermione looked at him.  
  
He couldn't say it.  
  
Damn him.  
  
His hand dropped to his side, and then he was gone.  
  
~*~  
  
That same afternoon, upon her return from Ada's, Ri found a small parcel sitting on her desk. A particularly self-confident owl must have delivered it, for there were gone several biscuits she kept on a plate for such an occasion as this. Only a generous amount of crumbles were left all over her homework. Since she wasn't expecting a parcel she had no one to blame for this theft of comestibles for personal consumption.  
  
But her curiosity got the better of her, and she unwrapped the parcel. It held a beautifully done snow-globe with a scene from a famous wizarding novel. The tiny figures were enchanted to move around in the small sphere. When the paper came away and the figures noticed that someone was looking at them, they waved back at Ri.  
  
She gently turned the globe upside down and back to watch the snow settle on the scene. There was no card enclosed, and the delivery owl was long gone, so there was no way to find out who had sent the gift. Ri put the snow-globe on her desk, and looked at it from time to time.  
  
When she returned from tea, she was so preoccupied with an idea one of her club's members had briefly mentioned that the gift went all but forgotten.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione had been on the gentle ride on the stream that pulls you from waking to sleeping when a sharp knock on her door suddenly dragged her back to shore. She lay blinking for a moment or two until she realised that the sound usually implied that someone had come to talk to her. But certainly not now? she thought drowsily. It must be well after midnight. But the knocking returned, so she got up and struggled into her bathrobe before she answered the door.  
  
It was Severus.  
  
"Is something wrong?" Hermione asked, half-asleep. A cold draught hissed around her, and she pulled the robe closer around her.  
  
"Yes," Severus said. "I can't tell you what I feel for you, that's what's wrong. I keep upsetting you, and therefore, I hate myself."  
  
"Oh." Hermione ran a hand through the tangled mess that her hair was, even this early into her night's rest.  
  
"May I come in?"  
  
Hermione stepped aside. He had come to tell her something about his feelings for her? Had he? Or was she asleep already, her mind playing tricks on her? She turned around, having closed the door, but there he was.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Yes? I'm sorry, I was about to go to sleep."  
  
"Hermione, I am in love with you."  
  
Silence.  
  
Filled with the strange feeling of loosing one's footing and an indescribable sensation of weightlessness around the centre.  
  
"You are?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," he murmured uncharacteristically.  
  
"Me too." A pause. "I mean, being in love. I love you too."  
  
"Hermione, you don't-"  
  
"I do, Severus," Hermione was fully awake now, adrenaline and whatever chemical what-do-you-call-thems of happiness rushing over her in all their glorious warmth. She smiled at him.  
  
It seemed to register with Severus then that she really meant it, that she returned his love. Warm, tingly shivers ran down his spine and settled in the pit of his stomach.  
  
They spent the night together, curled around each other in Hermione's comfortable bed, where she had led him after a lingering kiss. Severus only took off his frock coat, waistcoat and boots, then he lay beside Hermione, his love, and held her, drew her as close to him as possible. Hermione felt right in his arms, warm, and trusting.  
  
Severus nuzzled her neck, kissed whatever patch of skin he could reach without moving too much, until sleep claimed the new lovers' attention.  
  
__ 


	35. In Which Ri Meets a Heffalump

Disclaimer: see introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Seven  
  
In Which Ri Meets a Heffalump  
  
Again, Ri woke because of the nightmare. She jolted up in bed, breathing hard, her body covered in a sheet of cold perspiration. For several minutes, she sat rather disorientated, trying to realise what had happened in the first place. She had had the same nightmare again for the fourth time. And again, she couldn't really describe it. There weren't any colours, shapes or people in it. Neither sound nor smell. No texture. No taste. All that remained was a strong feeling of urgency to do something equally nondescript, terror, and coldness. Iciness.  
  
She pulled the blankets tightly around her against the cold, and lit the candles on her bedside table with a quick swish of her wand. Ri breathed deeply.  
  
What was she to do? The sheer horror of this nightmare that didn't really exist except for the strong feelings made her want never to close her eyes again. The loneliness of it, the - lack of existence. It made her want to curl up by someone's side, someone who was warm and alive and loving.  
  
~*~  
  
Again, they woke to the unfamiliar but utterly happy feeling of having slept in each other's arms. It was a feeling of specially scented warmth, of the gentle rhythm of breathing, of holding and being held - and that of hair tickling the nose. Which in our case concerned Hermione as well as Severus.  
  
Hermione had snuggled up against his side, her head resting in that place where arm meets body as if it were designed for exactly that purpose. Her arm was thrown across his chest, and her right leg lay nestled between his legs. She purred and moved against him like a cat.  
  
This woke him for good, and he greeted her with a kiss on her forehead. "It's Saturday, love."  
  
"Hmm," she acknowledged lazily. She remembered well last Wednesday morning. Then, they had to get up in a mad rush to make it to breakfast on time - and separately. There had been no time for them to appreciate what had happened. Today, they could stay in bed and skip breakfast.  
  
They had fallen asleep over work at his place some time earlier this morning, and somehow they had managed to move from the sofa to his bed, on which they had fallen fully clothed but for their shoes.  
  
"Sleep well?" she asked.  
  
It was the first time in ages that he was asked this. It felt odd, just like wishing her good night had. It was the small intimacies like this that shook him out of his outward apathy. Yet, the even greater intimacy was sharing his sleep with another person. The ultimate proof of his trust. He didn't reply.  
  
"Are you all right?" Hermione left the nook of his body that had accommodated her so perfectly. She took his bad arm and started to massage it.  
  
Severus looked at her. "It's good to have you by my side," he said eventually. Despite Hermione's smile, he added, "I'm not very good at this. Forgive me."  
  
"Don't say that," she said, and lay back down beside him, head propped up on her hand flattened on his chest.  
  
Severus smiled a little smile, but it reached his eyes.  
  
"That was the nicest thing I've heard in a long time," Hermione continued. She had meant to say, "you've ever said to me"; but for fear of being misunderstood, she had changed her choice of words.  
  
"Liar."  
  
Hermione sighed. "I'd so like you to be happy, Severus, even if just for a moment." It was an odd thing to say, but she felt that in order to be with Severus she needed to be honest. How else would he ever trust her?  
  
Again, his little smile. But he couldn't with the best will in the world say that he was happy. It had been too long a time in which he had convinced himself that his life would never be happy again after Nora's death; and taking into account the war. No, he felt he wasn't the type to just live peacefully ever after - but why did he dream of it then? The war made him useful. If it was over, his life was over, too.  
  
"I think I've forgotten how to be happy," he finally said.  
  
Hermione nodded gravely. "I know."  
  
Severus held her by the neck and pulled her down to him. He kissed her deeply. Unexpected but very welcome warm waves swept through them. When they held each other after the kiss, the languid mood of the morning enveloped them in lazy slumber.  
  
He woke three quarters of an hour later, but Hermione was gone. The bed beside him was empty and cool, but the crumpled sheets assured him that it hadn't just been a dream. Also, there was a memory of her fingertips feathering over the stubble on his chin, and of her breath just beneath his ear as she kissed him there. And her scent still clung to the linen, and he felt oddly lucky to be able to bury his mouth and nose in the fabric that covered the pillow next to him.  
  
He then realised what had happened, his every word. How could he have said that? What shadows still possessed him to push her away like this, particularly since he had let her come so close? Because he had let her come so close. That was what he wanted. He wanted her close to him. The happiness-issue was what had him worried.  
  
Severus got up, and in his stocking feet went to the bathroom. The image in his mirror looked well-rested and healthy, if unshaven. He splashed some cold water into his face, ran his hand through his hair, and, a little later, went to his living room. To his great surprise, Hermione was there, seated with her feet tucked under in her favourite armchair, pouring over a heavy, leather-bound tome on her thighs.  
  
Severus knelt by her side and met her eyes. "It's I who's the liar. I remember happiness, but I'm afraid of it."  
  
Hermione put the bookmark back in its place and closed the book.   
  
"Severus, tell me. Do you want me to stay?" It wasn't a question regarding the momentary situation.   
  
"I don't want you to get hurt, Hermione," Severus eventually offered. "But I do want you to stay. This is my dilemma."  
  
"Well, you can't have one without the other." She bent and smoothed her palm against his stubbly cheek.  
  
He felt ridiculous. He felt he was losing his grip on his life, on his well-guarded isolation.   
  
He felt he needed this to have a life after the war.  
  
~*~  
  
That afternoon, while everybody else was outside enjoying the fairly nice weather, Ri retreated to the Muggle Studies section of the library. She was pouring over several books, and the small notebook she had brought to jot down her findings looked as if she had found quite a lot. She was so immersed in her work that she didn't notice anything that went on around her - not that there was much to notice with everybody out practising Quidditch, playing or walking.  
  
It was already late, just before tea, when she noticed her stomach-ache and the dizziness. Ri chalked it up to having been in here for the better part of the day without drinking or eating much - nothing, to be precise. After yet another horrible night she hadn't been able to force anything down. It was as if the dream extended into her waking hours. Or was she still asleep, dreaming all this? Ri shook her head as if to free herself from these thoughts. She wrote a short note for Madam Pince to leave the books she had picked from the on the table because she intended to come back later that evening.  
  
A thought struck her when she got up, inspiring her to look up just another book. It wouldn't take long, and the dinner bell hadn't rung yet.  
  
The dizziness increased as she stood. She must have got up too quickly, she thought, as she braced herself on one of the bookcases.  
  
Eventually, Ri could make out a voice that was calling her name. Slowly, she drifted up out of the inkiness that had surrounded her so welcomingly. She didn't want to leave. It had been the first time in ages that she had felt nothing. It was bliss.  
  
But the voice persisted, it kept calling her name in an urgent tone. More out of a reflex than the wish to answer, she said, "Yes ... yes, I'm here-"  
  
"Miss Tumsole!"  
  
Her cheek hurt. Was someone - the owner of the voice - slapping her?  
  
"What ... yes, yes-"  
  
The darkness was lifting, and Ri drifted through a fog that cleared in the centre of her vision first.  
  
"Henrietta. Wake up."  
  
It was Snape's voice. Darn, had she fallen asleep in his class?  
  
"I'm here," she mumbled. "I'm fine."  
  
Automatically, she grasped the hand that Snape held out to her, and before she could turn round, she was standing - still woozy and jelly-legged - in the library. The bench was next to her, and she remembered working there. She sat.  
  
Snape gripped her by her upper arm. "Whatever happened, Miss Tumsole? Are you all right?"  
  
When she looked at him, she could see clearly again, and she felt a lot better than she had in ages.  
  
"I guess I worked too hard and ate too little," she explained. Her presence of mind surprised her. How easy the white lie came ... She raised her head and looked at the Potions Master. His usual mask-like stern demeanour had given way to concern. "I'm fine, professor."  
  
He eyed her carefully. It was incredible how dark his eyes were. She had never really looked at him before, she now realised. Not even when she still had had a crush on him. Quite a fickle crush it must have been, she thought acerbically.  
  
She smiled; laughed a little.  
  
"I hope we are even now, Miss Tumsole," Snape replied coolly, but not without a trace of amusement in his voice. "Allow me to accompany you the Great Hall." He wasn't asking permission.  
  
They walked in silence, and Snape fell a couple of steps behind her once they reached the populated corridors. But before they reached the Great Hall, he walked past her.  
  
"Please come and see me at your convenience regarding your essay," he said, casting her an urgent look.  
  
Ri, surprised, nodded.  
  
He had returned her essay on Monday and had had little to comment on.  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
She turned around to see the sympathetic grimace of a Gryffindor who must have overheard Snape's invitation. Ri shrugged and grinned sheepishly.  
  
But come and see him she would.  
  
Surprisingly enough.  
  
~*~  
  
"I feel a little bit uneasy regarding Miss Tumsole," Severus began at tea. He was sitting between Hermione and Sirius.  
  
"Why's that?" Sirius asked, filling his plate with mashed potatoes. Like Hermione, he had the grace not to seek Miss Tumsole out in the crowd. It would have made little sense anyway, since the sixth years were seated at the far end of the long tables.  
  
"She broke down in the library just before tea," Severus told them. He had been calm back then, but now he felt very uneasy about the episode.  
  
"Oh dear!" Hermione gasped. She put down the vegetable bowl. "Did you send her to Poppy? Is she hurt?"  
  
"No," Severus replied, "to both. I sent her here. She said she hadn't eaten anything."  
  
Hermione helped herself to haricot beans. "Let's hope it's really just that."  
  
"Hm."  
  
"But you think there's more to it, don't you?" Sirius eventually said.  
  
"Yes," Severus nodded. And after a swig of water continued, "And I hope she comes to see me. I don't have a good feeling about this."  
  
"It's not lack of food, then," Sirius pointed out.  
  
"No."  
  
And with this, since Severus couldn't articulate a more precise thought, the topic was changed.  
  
__ 


	36. Staff of Aesculapius

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Eight  
  
Staff of Aesculapius  
  
The notes, once assembled, proved highly helpful. As it turned out, it was easy for them to rule out quite a list of things that would not get them anywhere in their search for the antidote. On the other hand, that which remained was an important step into the right direction.  
  
Poppy, Minerva, Felix, Hermione and Severus met in a laboratory off the Dungeon classroom. It was Severus' private lab, where he could keep experiments running and brew rather more time-consuming potions without having to fear being disturbed. And to keep it safe from prying and nosy students. The room was about half the size of the classroom and it was better illuminated by daylight. In contrast to the classroom, the mullioned windows were clean and let in a generous amount of daylight. The centre of the room was occupied by a huge oak worktable flanked by a fireplace above which there was a copper smoke outlet. The walls were lined with books and notebooks, glass containers of any conceivable shape, form and size, and charts depicting chemical and alchemical processes and properties.  
  
"Not bad," Hermione commented, looking around the room. It was very clean and looked neatly organised, not at all like the creative chaos on Severus' desks in his rooms and office. Under the workbench were lined several cauldrons of different size and material.  
  
"Well," Severus said, "let's to it." He went to the blackboard mounted on the wall next to the door. "Spells first, please."  
  
They had decided to work on the make up of the venom before finding its counteragent. Felix, who was standing on a stool, began, "The venom was mixed with Traveller's Hex, a spell that originally was developed for the purpose of transporting things rather than people. In his letter to Miss Tumsole, Thorolf conceded, however, that the charm may be used on people, too, in cases when Apparating isn't possible. The charm cannot be used on one's own person. If dissolved in a potion, however, people are able to travel."  
  
"You might as well Apparate, then," Poppy commented.  
  
"There is an advantage to it, Poppy," Felix explained. "Traveller's Hex is a silent affair. And that's what makes it so dangerous. For all I know, it might even be impervious to security wards."  
  
The room was silent for a while.  
  
"Since the potion is activated by Cruciatus, it is useless at the moment," Felix added. "My guess would be that You-Know-Who would want to work on this next."  
  
"Does this have anything to do with Severus' paralysed arm?" Minerva asked, looking up from her notes.  
  
"No," Hermione answered. "The paralysis is due to Nagini's venom and her milk. While the venom is deadly, the milk is life-giving. Hence, the milk cancels out the lethal qualities of the venom - at a rather considerable cost. It is quite possible that Cruciatus adds its bit to this effect."  
  
"It may by possible, however," Severus added, "that Voldemort only used Cruciatus to punish me; hence a less powerful and brutal spell might suffice to activate the potion." He thought for a moment. "If such a spell is necessary at all, that is."  
  
"You've never mentioned this before," Poppy said in surprise.  
  
"That is because I thought of it only now."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Any more sudden inspirations like this?" Felix asked, amusement plain in his voice.  
  
Minerva chose to ignore this. "As it turned out, Severus is an Animagus. His animal self didn't get a chance to show itself because of the paralysis, but it turned out that Raven's blood is unaffected by the venom. Therefore, I think it ought to be included in the antidote."  
  
Severus jotted this down on the blackboard.  
  
"In his second draft, Thorolf made changes to Traveller's Hex," Felix explained. "You-Know-Who has the first draft. The changes may be subtle, but the difference makes for a big enough effect."  
  
"So it is not only the mixture of venom and milk that is responsible for my paralysis," Severus concluded. "Which is curious enough, since the effect of spells on ingested potions is a rare phenomenon."  
  
"We must not forget that in this case, we're dealing with venom, not a potion," Minerva said. "Maybe the whole thing is so volatile because the potion was created inside a live snake's body."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Or was it?" Minerva was suddenly unsure of herself, of the others' silence.  
  
"Have we actually thought about that yet?" Felix asked.  
  
"No," Severus said, dangerously close to his worst classroom mood. How could he have forgotten a detail like this?  
  
"Well, is it possible?" Hermione asked. "To create a potion inside a live snake's body without hurting it?"  
  
Eventually, Minerva replied, "It must be, for I cannot imagine any other way to get a potion into a snake's venom glands."  
  
"Still," Poppy mused, "we need an antidote. The spells are not the cause of the paralysis."  
  
The quiet in the dungeon was interrupted by the dinner bell. They rose gratefully to rush to the Great Hall, glad to escape the awkward situation. Despite the breakthroughs they'd had, neither of them could fight a strange feeling of having wasted too much time and effort on unnecessary tasks. That was the way of research, of course, but in the backs of their minds the threat of Voldemort loomed.  
  
An hour later, they returned to the dungeon.  
  
"I doubt it boils down to Raven's blood only," Poppy said once she had perused Severus' notes on the blackboard. She took a small red notebook and a short pencil from the pocket of her pinafore.   
  
"What do you suggest, then?" Severus asked, unnerved already. He had a strong feeling that this was not getting them anywhere.  
  
"More of Nagini's milk," she said, utterly unimpressed by the Potions Master's tone.  
  
"Oh yes, right, how could we forget this," Severus sneered. "Have you any idea how hard it is to come by snake milk?"  
  
Poppy didn't say anything, she just raised her chin defiantly.  
  
"We could ask St Mungo's and the Ministry," Hermione suggested.  
  
"And apothecaries," Felix added.  
  
"One would have to go personally, of course," Severus conceded. "I won't have any of the hubbub we had last time with the blood."  
  
Minerva sighed in relief. "Well, now that's that, what else would you suggest for the antidote?"  
  
Poppy, in conciliatory words, suggested hot chocolate. "Maybe with a trace of cayenne."  
  
"What about aconite?" Hermione chimed in once she had made a mental note of the Healer's suggestion. She wouldn't commit a list of ingredients to paper, not after what had happened to Minerva.  
  
"Good point," Severus agreed. He jotted it down on the blackboard. The chalk left greyish stains on his trousers when he wiped his hands on them.  
  
"You should go to London as soon as possible, Severus," Minerva said. "This way, you might have a word with Fudge about those Aurors. Albus would be loathe to ask the Order in without asking Fudge first, I reckon."  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
This was it then. They had everything they needed. Nearly. Now, it all depended on Nagini's milk.  
  
He did not have a particularly good feeling about this, but he wouldn't let that on. Hermione's hopeful smile wouldn't let him. Something in his heart stirred at this notion, something fell into place, or opened up - whatever suits you best.  
  
~*~  
  
Ada had come to compare some notes for her homework with Ri's findings, just as they had arranged to do earlier at lunch. She knocked on her friend's door.  
  
"Ri, are you in?"  
  
There was no answer.  
  
She tried the door and found it unlocked. "Ri? May I come in?"  
  
Ada felt like an intruder, but on the other hand, concern for her friend made her close the door and look around the tidy room. Until she heard a sound, a muffled sob or shiver, she wasn't quite sure.  
  
"Ri? Are you all right?"  
  
"No." Her friend's voice sounded as if she had been crying.  
  
Quickly, Ada went around the four-poster bed to find Ri huddled against the wall between her bed and the window. She had wrapped her arms around her knees, and it was not hard to see that she was shivering violently, despite the roaring fire. Ada was by her side in no time.  
  
"Ri, dear, what's wrong?"  
  
Instead of an answer, Ri opened up quite literally, and hid herself in her friend's embrace. All she needed now was a shoulder to cry on, which Ada offered very willingly. The Slytherin hugged her friend closely and, with nonsense words and gentle strokes, tried to calm and comfort her.  
  
It took some time until Ri was relieved and composed enough to utter a coherent sentence, and it was all Ada could do not to sigh. Since she had no idea what was going on, she did not know why she had been comforting her.  
  
"Tell me, Ri," she said gently, "what's going on? Why have you been crying?"  
  
"I need your help, Ada," was all Ri offered by way of explanation.  
  
"Anything, dear."  
  
"Something dreadful is going on," Ri eventually added, close to tears again. "But I don't know what it is."  
  
Now that's going to be a tad difficult, Ada thought. "What can I do?"  
  
Ri's eyes were puffy but very bright. "I need some Draught of the Living Death."  
  
Ada was speechless. That potion was very powerful, the most powerful of sleeping potions to be precise, and the tiniest of drops too much could put a person to sleep for ever. Besides, it was very hard to come by, particularly inside the walls of this castle. "Are you mad?"  
  
"Yes." The reply came in all seriousness. "I'm going mad, really. Ada, you must help me! I haven't slept in ages, and when I go to sleep there are these horrible nightmares."  
  
"About what, exactly?"  
  
"I don't know ... darkness and cold. Evil. Everything is black ... and - dead." At the last word, Ri met Ada's gaze unfalteringly. "And I am to do with this. I'm in there."  
  
Ada had to think. "Madam Pomfrey."  
  
"No! She can't do anything, she won't give me what I need."  
  
"What about the anti-hallucinogenic potion Snape taught us first thing this year?" Ada suggested.  
  
Ri sighed, almost in exasperation. "Tried it, didn't help."  
  
Silence ensued.  
  
"Where am I supposed to get that potion from?" Ada asked finally, utterly helpless.  
  
Ri stared at her intently, as if she willed her to read her thoughts.  
  
"No." Ada finally understood. "I can't do that."  
  
"Ada, please."  
  
She drew in a deep breath. "I'll do it, but I doubt it'll be ready tonight. Can you hold out one more night?"  
  
Ri embraced her friend gratefully. "I guess I'll have to, won't I?"  
  
~*~  
  
Ri held out one more night. She didn't know how exactly she had spent the night, but she knew she had only dozed off once or twice over her books. A dozen mugs of strong coffee had taken care of that, and when her eyes closed, she wasn't so deeply asleep as though she could dream. Ri felt only little rested the next morning, but at least she didn't have to bear with the nightmares. Deep circles were under her eyes, and she was very pale. Her knees didn't seem to work properly either - which was little wonder since her system had to cope with a high dosage of caffeine.  
  
"I'll get to work straight away after school," Ada promised when they met on their way to the Great Hall. "Are you quite all right? Did you get any sleep?"  
  
Ri nodded. "I feel ravenous, actually."  
  
It was true, too. At least her stomach appeared to have remained sensible despite what she put her body through.  
  
When she reached for the pitcher of orange juice, she met the Potions Master's gaze from across the far end of the room. His expression was hard to read from this distance, but it was enough for a guilty pang. She had practically promised him to come and see him. Somebody to talk to about what was happening to her was all she wanted at the moment, but she wasn't quite sure if Snape would believe her, or deem her problem important enough. She could always ask him for the Draught of Living Death of course, but she doubted that he would give it to her. There were less potent potions to provide for a good night's sleep, and he was most likely to give her one of those. The problem was they weren't strong enough.  
  
Maybe, just talking about it helped.  
  
These thoughts helped her make it through the morning and early afternoon. When double Potions (with Hufflepuff) finally came to an end, Ri managed to dawdle long enough to stay behind in the empty classroom. It had been Snape's last class this day.  
  
She was putting her cauldron back into the last empty space on the top shelf, when Snape approached her.  
  
"Miss Tumsole, I'm afraid this a bad moment to talk," he began.  
  
All expectations and hopes drained away from her face at this. "I'll come back later," she managed.  
  
Snape must have noticed her reaction, for he asked in uncharacteristic kindness, "Are you all right, Miss Tumsole? You don't look so well."  
  
"I-" She had been on the brink of asking him for the Draught of the Living Death, but something made her hold her tongue. "It's okay, sir. I can come back later, really."  
  
"Any time, Miss Tumsole," he offered. He looked concerned.  
  
Ri managed a smile. Despite everything, despite herself, her heart was warming to him, and she had the distinct notion that Lovers' Light had worked after all. Not on her crush on Snape, true. She was no expert, but she thought that love was changing that bitter man.  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
There was always Ada's potion to revert to.  
  
__ 


	37. Moony, Padfoot and Wings

Disclaimer: see introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Nine  
  
Moony, Padfoot and Wings  
  
It was not with an entirely good conscience that Severus went down to Hogsmeade that freezing afternoon. His little talk with Miss Tumsole had left the impression that the girl had come to him with something important to tell him, and he had had to turn her away because of his trip down to London. Whatever it was, he hoped that it could wait until the next day.  
  
Sirius, who had had the afternoon off since lunch, met him outside Hogsmeade's small park. They had agreed that he accompany him to the city and help him in the search of milk of Nagini's kind of snake.  
  
"Ready?" Sirius asked, and when Severus nodded, they Disapparated to wizarding London. They had planned for Sirius to scour the shops of Diagon Alley, whereas Severus went straight to the Ministry.  
  
Severus Apparated straight into the smelly telephone box in an equally smelly and dingy street. He spelled out the word M-A-G-I-C on the dial, and after he had told the welcomewitch what brought him here, a silver badge popped out of the flap for returned coins. On it was his name and the purpose of his visit, which read "rather urgent business".  
  
Then the telephone box dropped down like a lift for about a minute. At the end of the short journey, Severus pushed the door open on the Atrium. He didn't really see the gilded fireplaces or the shiny dark floorboards, let alone the enchanted ceiling or the magnificent Fountain of Magical Brethren. Severus headed straight for Eric Munch's desk to have his wand registered, then he would take one of the lifts to Level Four, to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  
  
But Cornelius Fudge, alighting from a lift cabin, spotted the tall dark man.  
  
"Severus Snape!" the Minister exclaimed. Now there was no way pretending not to be there, Severus thought, sighing silently.  
  
"Minister," he acknowledged the man who had made his life rather miserable on more than one occasion. They were on speaking terms, however, there was always a strong undercurrent of tension when they met. It didn't help, of course, that Dumbledore had vouched for him, or that Severus had made every possible attempt at atoning for what he had done. Or that Fudge had deliberately let down Nora.  
  
"What, ah-," he glanced quickly at the silver badge on Severus' black lapel, "'rather urgent business' brings you here?"  
  
"The antidote for my arm, sir," he said and held up his paralysed arm.  
  
"Oh," Fudge made. "Any progress, Snape?"  
  
"Quite," he replied curtly. "I was hoping to get one of the ingredients here."  
  
"Jolly good," Fudge said absentmindedly. "Jolly good." Then he looked at his pocket watch, just to find that he was late for something or other. "I must fly, Snape. Good-bye." And off he was.  
  
"Good riddance, more like," Severus muttered, inaudibly for curious ears. Dodging flying correspondence, he entered a lift, which took him up to Level Four.  
  
The person to talk to in this case was Amos Diggory who was head of the Office for Distribution of Potions Ingredients, Fauna. Diggory greeted him friendly but reservedly, anything that reminded him of his son's forceful death had him do that.  
  
"What can I do for you, Professor?"  
  
"I am currently working on an antidote to a special new snake venom," Severus explained.  
  
"And I take it that this is your rather urgent business?"  
  
"Indeed. Writing wasn't an option in this case," Severus explained. "What I need is a flask of special snake milk."  
  
"Ah," Diggory nodded.  
  
But now came the tricky part. "A giant snake."  
  
"Oh," Diggory said, once he had recovered. He knew of Nagini, like so many wizards and witches did these days. "Well, then," he continued, cheering up a bit, "let's see what I can do for you." He swivelled around in his chair and opened the drawer of a filing cabinet that sat behind him. He went through his papers. "I take it You-Know-Who is involved?"  
  
"Yes." Severus saw no need to keep it a secret.  
  
Diggory turned around to face him again. "I'm afraid that I can't give you a flask without authorisation from up above," he said, meaning Fudge. "But believe me, I'll do anything in my power to help you in that regard."  
  
Severus was a little disappointed, although he had expected nothing much different from this. "Thank you, Amos."  
  
He rose and turned for the door.  
  
"Anything to fight You-Know-Who," Diggory added.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus met Sirius in Diagon Alley. It turned out that the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's efforts had been in vain so far.  
  
"Do you think we should try with Borgin and Burkes?" Sirius suggested. They were outside Madam Malkin's.  
  
"Why not? Voldemort will find out about our foraging anyway," Severus agreed. At the sound of You-Know-Whose name several shoppers and passers-by shrank away, shock and awe openly in their faces. Much of Voldemort's reputation was based on the fact that no one spoke his name, when every child knew that you only had to face danger head-on in order to see that it wasn't half as bad as it appeared. But tell that the public, Severus sneered silently.  
  
"I'll go," Severus said. "Borgin is still friendly with me, and he's less likely to spill the beans when I go."  
  
"Meaning ..."  
  
"Meaning he doesn't know about my work."  
  
"Excellent. I'll see you in the Leaky Cauldron."  
  
Of course, Severus had no luck at Borgin and Burkes, either, nor at any other Knockturn Alley establishment likely to have snake milk available. He took the flat steps back to Diagon Alley, and when he stepped into the cleaner and more welcoming part of wizarding London, he found himself opposite a small nameless shop that sold antiques of any kind. There were toys as well as furniture, books and household goods, a few Muggle items (how they had made it there Severus couldn't even begin to fathom), and jewellery.  
  
As he stepped up to the display window, he nearly tripped over an old gramophone and an assortment of cheap cauldrons. A small tray covered in peacock-blue velvet had caught his attention. Neatly arranged on it were several ancient looking pieces of silver jewellery. Some of them were nearly black with age, or heavily encrusted in precious stones, or simply overly ostentatious in their design. The only piece of interest was a shiny star the size of a Sickle. A narrow band of silver bent into the shape of a star, the pendant held a single bright precious stone in it. Magic kept it suspended in the centre of the star, so there was no need for any disturbing setting. The shop's lights caught in the stone's cut and was reflected like a small fireworks.  
  
Severus smiled. He pictured the pendant on a thin silver necklace around Hermione's neck, nestled perfectly in the hollow at the base of her throat. This would make a wonderful if belated birthday present.  
  
The stone turned out to be a diamond, and the shop's manager told Severus that the pendant was a beautiful piece of a continental silversmith's. He put the pendant into a small silver box, and would have gift-wrapped it gladly if Severus hadn't declined the offer. So, the small box and the pendant disappeared into the depths of the Potions Master's robes.  
  
At a jeweller's, he bought a simple silver necklace to go with the pendant, then Severus headed for the Leaky Cauldron. He hadn't realised that darkness had already fallen. Diagon Alley was brightly lit by torches, and the light spilling out from the shop windows and the windows above.  
  
And for a moment, he felt happy.  
  
~*~  
  
As it turned out, Sirius had called on Remus to join them in their search for snake venom in order to save precious time. Severus met the two of them in the Leaky Cauldron, and when he returned from the bar to their table with a steaming mug of tea, Remus told them of his inquiries with St Mungo's.  
  
"Did you know that 'Antidotes are Anti-Don'ts unless approved by a qualified Healer'?" Remus laughed.  
  
"Maybe I should put that one up in my classroom one day," Severus commented, sipping the scalding tea carefully. "Any success with the folks at St Mungo's labs?"  
  
Remus shook his head in denial. "Afraid not."  
  
"Leaves us waiting for an owl from Diggory." Sirius summed it up nicely.  
  
Severus shrugged.  
  
"Didn't Malfoy offer you help?" Remus asked after another drink of his Butterbeer.  
  
"I'm not going to ask him," Severus said plainly, but in a manner that clearly discouraged any further questions.  
  
They didn't stay any longer than necessary to drain their respective drinks. The Leaky Cauldron was getting crowded as hungry shoppers came in for a bite and a drink. It was getting late anyway, so the three men left the pub. They gratefully inhaled the chilly but clear air in the pub's backyard.  
  
Severus made sure that the silver box was still where it was. Then: "Thank you for your help."  
  
"Welcome," Remus said. He tugged uncomfortably at his coat. It was Muggle-made and had been a necessary disguise on his way to St Mungo's. "Though I'll be glad to get out of this straightjacket."  
  
"Thank Severus for Wolfsbane Potion, eh?" Sirius joked and poked his elbow into the shorter man's ribs.  
  
~*~  
  
It was nearly ten when the Potions Master and the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher returned to Hogwarts. They sent a couple of stray students to their respective beds before they headed to their own rooms.  
  
Severus had taken off his frock-coat and waistcoat, removed his cravat and opened a few buttons at his neck. The silver box sat on the mantelpiece, the cardboard box containing the necklace next to it. He sat and opened both boxes. The pendant looked tiny in his palm, but the diamond sparkled beautifully, and he knew it was the perfect gift for Hermione. With the help of his wand, he stringed the pendant on the necklace and put both in the silver box; which in turn he put back on the mantelpiece. Suddenly, letting Hermione into his life didn't seem so hard any more.  
  
However, he was still smiling when he settled at his desk with a nightcap next to him. He wanted to read a couple of pages before retiring, as was his custom, to calm his mind and his anticipation. He had barely read two pages, when he thought he had heard a knocking sound. He sat still for a moment, and just as he was about to return to his book, he could hear it again, unmistakably this time. It was a more energetic rapping.  
  
Who could it be this late at night?  
  
He rose, buttoning up his shirt collar, and opened the door. Out in the corridor there was Millie the house-elf, wide-eyed with fear, her pointed ears quivering. Behind her stood Henrietta Tumsole, pale, shivering, and it was clear that she had been crying.  
  
"Millie is so sorry, sir, but Miss wouldn't leave Millie alone until Millie brought her to sir, ... sir," the house-elf stammered.  
  
Miss Tumsole's sudden appearance and looks had alarmed him. There was no time for explanations. "Thank you, Millie," he said, dismissing her.  
  
"Sir?" The house-elf's voice was still shaky.  
  
"It's all right, you can go now," Severus repeated firmly, and Millie disappeared quickly, quick in case the Potions Master changed his mind. "Miss Tumsole, do come in, please," he said, stepping aside for her.  
  
Ri was in her pyjamas and robe, but she was not wearing any socks or shoes; it was obvious that she had already been sleeping, which was quite unusual. Students normally turned in rather late.  
  
"Please, have a seat." He beckoned for her to sit in one of the armchairs in front of his fireplace. Then he conjured a pair of thick woollen socks, and summoned a box of chocolate with his wand. He made her put on the socks and offered her a row of very dark chocolate with a high cocoa content.  
  
"Now tell me what's been bothering you," he said, settling into a chair opposite her, balancing his tumbler on the armrest.  
  
So Ri relayed to him everything that had happened in the past few days, her sleeplessness, her nightmares. She tried to be as accurate in her description of the feelings and atmosphere in her dreams as possible. Between sentences, she took bites off the chocolate, which helped, as always.  
  
"And tonight," she said haltingly, "tonight I even tried the Draught of the Living Death, but it didn't help at all. It even got worse. I went to bed early because I was hoping for a good night's sleep, and wanted to make the most of it." She paused, finishing off the row of chocolate. "I went sleepwalking, and Millie found me in the Dungeons."  
  
Severus put aside the fact that she had brewed a potent potion by herself; that he could deal with later, if at all. "Are you a sleepwalker, Miss Tumsole?"  
  
"No," the young woman said. She was a lot calmer now that she was warm and had had the chocolate. "Never. I don't even speak in my sleep ... allegedly. I felt as though someone had told me to go to the Dungeons."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know, I'm afraid."  
  
"Who do you think told you to go to the Dungeons?" Severus pressed her further. Not because of malice, but because he needed to know as much about this as possible.  
  
At this, Ri shuddered violently. "I ... I'm not sure. I felt very cold, and it was as if I were drawn into a black hole." She paused again. "I'm sorry I can't describe it any better."  
  
"That's all right, Miss Tumsole," Severus said.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"May I not sleep in my room tonight, please?"  
  
Severus started a bit at this. Why would she not want to sleep in her rooms? He had to pursue that in more detail. But not tonight anymore. It was late already. "I'll take you to the hospital wing. There you won't be alone, if that's the comfort you need," he suggested.  
  
__ 


	38. Darkling

Disclaimer: see introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Ten  
  
Darkling  
  
The next day, Ri was still lacking some sleep, but well rested. The night she had spent under Madam Pomfrey's wings had been blessed by innocent, even enjoyable dreams. She felt like a new person, but she also knew that she could hardly spend the following nights in a hospital bed either. She would have to return to her own rooms. The very thought of it made her shudder.  
  
The only person who would possibly be able to help her was Professor Snape. Never before would she have thought of going to him of all people. Professor Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw, had always been her premier choice, as he should be. She knew that Flitwick was involved in this, too, but she didn't know how much he knew. She needed an expert on Defence Against the Dark Arts, and in this case, it was Snape - not Black.  
  
So she walked resolutely down to the Dungeons at the end of the day's lessons, and waited for the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw second years to disappear so she could to talk to Snape in private. He was ordering a pile of sheaves when she entered the deserted classroom.  
  
"Ah, Miss Tumsole," he said. "Please, have a seat."  
  
That man could be downright courteous if he wanted. Must, she corrected herself, if he wanted Granger in his life. But there was no time to wonder where that had come from.  
  
"I'd like to thank you for your help last night. I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience," she said, and pulled the pair of laundered and rolled-up socks from a pocket in her robes. She put it on the desk in front of her. The surface was scrubbed clean, and the wood felt soft to the touch. So very familiar.  
  
"Did sleeping at Madam Pomfrey's help, then?" He gathered his robes and sat on the edge of the neighbouring desk.  
  
"It did, thank you," she smiled.  
  
"Very well." A pause. "Miss Tumsole, why did you not want to go back to your own rooms last night?"  
  
Sudden inspiration struck. "I have a feeling something in my room causes the nightmares. I've never had problems sleeping in my room before ... and since I slept well in the hospital wing ..."  
  
"You are probably right." Severus was glad the girl was blessed with her mother's reason and art of thinking. He had taught quite a few of his classmates' children, but never before had he actually been really interested in them as individuals. They usually were just someone's child. This was not merely Scarlet's child - this was Henrietta Tumsole. But then again, he had never been close to any of them, and little wonder it was. But even if he hadn't been a Death Eater, he would not have acted any differently. It just wasn't his style. "Is there anything in particular you're thinking of?"  
  
"The snow-globe."  
  
Severus raised an inquisitive eyebrow at that. Ri herself couldn't explain where her connecting the nightmares to the anonymous gift had come from. And she said so. "Maybe you could have a look at it?"  
  
"That would certainly help," Severus said. He called Millie the house-elf, and once Ri had described the item in question, she disappeared to collect it. When she returned, a cup of tea was sitting on the desk in front of Ri.  
  
"This is Miss' snow-globe, sir," Millie said, holding it out for them to take it; she must have picked it up gingerly. Again, she looked frightened, but this afternoon, her fear was more than that; it was sheer terror, and it was directed at the snow-globe.  
  
"Put it there," Severus said. He seemed to have noticed the creature's fear, too. Millie quickly disposed of the obviously frightening object and disappeared into thin air very quickly. The very instant she disappeared, the snow-globe changed into an earthenware pot the size of a mortar; although it was empty, a faint wisp of orange smoke was curling up from it. Ri gasped.  
  
Ri turned to look at him intently. "You're an Animagus," she finally said.  
  
Severus did not quite understand her non sequitur. He was very surprised at her spelling out what he had never openly admitted to her.  
  
"There's some kind of appearance charm on the bowl," Ri explained herself. "It's charmed to look like a snow-globe, and it only reveals its true nature when an Animagus is around."  
  
"I've never heard of such a charm," he said, without implying that she was lying.  
  
"It's in The Grey Book. It must be among the spells stolen from Thorolf's painting," she said quickly, thankful for not having to divulge Thorolf's secret in order to explain her knowledge.  
  
"We never -" Severus was mad at himself. It was only natural that they had concentrated on an antidote in their search, and not on the other spells in the mediaeval book. So it was only natural that Voldemort came hurling them in their faces now.  
  
"Where did you get this?" he asked more sharply than intended.  
  
"It's an anonymous gift, sent via owl."  
  
"Voldemort."  
  
An icy shiver ran down Ri's spine at the mention of You-Know-Whose name. She swallowed hard. "Is this what it is all about? Voldemort?" She forced herself to use his name, and once pronounced, she felt the sheer horror of what lay ahead of them. It was the Dark Lord involved in this. Everything fell into place then, everything. Snape's injury, The Grey Book, the snow-globe ...  
  
"I'm afraid so, Miss Tumsole," Severus had to admit. It was the least he could do, and it was what he owed her. "I meant for you to stay out of this, but it turned out differently, as always."  
  
"I'm sorry, sir."  
  
"Don't. It's my fault. I should have left you out of this," he said wistfully. He laughed bitterly. "Your mother will have me in Azkaban when she gets wind of this."  
  
Ri realised he was talking about Nora - whatever had occurred back then - but she was clever enough not to comment on that. "If she gets wind of this. I won't say a thing."  
  
Suddenly Severus stood, and before he knew what he was doing, he had grabbed the girl's upper arm and was looking at her imploringly. "You must promise me, Miss Tumsole, that from now on you keep out of this."  
  
Ri looked at him wide-eyed. The intimacy of his eyes was as captivating as was his firm grip on her arm.   
  
"Promise me, Henrietta," he said urgently.  
  
"Yes, yes, I promise," she agreed. She shivered when he released her. His hand had been so warm that when he let go of her, she felt cold. But she quickly recovered. "But what about the snow-globe - or whatever it is?"  
  
"I'll take care of it. It -"  
  
"It would only affect my dreams, wouldn't it?" she asked.  
  
Severus nodded. He was willing to hear her out, despite everything.  
  
"Well, so far I haven't let my subconscious dwell on the dream. What if I did now, to see what this is all about?"  
  
Severus considered this. "It's too risky. He would put you under his spell." He was thinking nothing less than Imperius.  
  
"But that's the point of it, right? I wouldn't do it on my own, of course. I'm willing to find out what this is all about."  
  
She was making her suggestion plainly enough for him to see what she was getting at.  
  
"I can't let you do that. Dumbledore wouldn't allow it either," he said firmly, but there was no sneering in his voice, nor did he show any contempt for her suggestion.  
  
Ri nodded, smiled. She understood. She drank the last drop from her tea cup, then stood. "I'll leave that with you, then," she said, indicating the slightly smoking bowl.  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
She was already at the door, when he said: "Thank you anyway, Miss Tumsole."  
  
~*~  
  
"You did the right thing, Severus," Dumbledore said, when after dinner, Severus had joined him for a cup of tea.  
  
"I have a feeling it's a great opportunity we passed on," he admitted. It was an admission - personally, he would have liked nothing more than to accept Miss Tumsole's suggestion, but something within him had made him decline her offer. It frightened him. Also, all his fear for another person had been directed at Hermione until now. Never had it occurred to him that Miss Tumsole might be involved in this more than they had thought.  
  
"Did she leave the bowl with you?"  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"Good, even what with her not being the foolhardy type," Albus mused, sucking on a sherbet lemon. "Now, about the opportunities. I reckon Voldemort would have had her going through your things to find out anything about the progress of your research. Picea Parchment was a better try, if you ask me."  
  
"You're probably right, Albus."  
  
"Miss Weasley has had a hard enough time coping with the events regarding Tom's diary. Let's not allow for something like that again. The children have to grow up fast enough these days," he mused, looking at the younger man intently from above the rim of his half-moon spectacles.  
  
They sipped their tea in silence for a while.  
  
Eventually, Severus touched on something else. "You haven't heard anything from Diggory, have you?"  
  
Albus shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Severus."  
  
The Potions Master nodded, finished his tea, and left the old headmaster's rotund office in the wake of less than enthusiastically billowing robes.  
  
~*~  
  
"I missed you," Hermione murmured as she lay on the sofa, cradled by Severus' chest and legs. She was balancing a glass of red wine on her stomach, enjoying his fingers in her hair and on her neck. His caresses made her shiver and purr with delight. Tenebrae was curled up in front of the fireplace, looking at them.  
  
Severus was toying with one of her locks, winding it around his finger, admiring its chestnut shimmer in the lambent light. "Hermione, what if I wanted you in my life?"  
  
"You tell me, Severus," she replied carefully. Part of her guards came up, but she remained relaxed enough not to alert him.  
  
"I'm not afraid of being happy anymore."  
  
Silence.  
  
"How come?"  
  
"Well, I want to be able to spend my evenings like this," he said, his lips very close at her ear. His breath caressed her sensitive skin there, and she shivered comfortably.  
  
"Only the evenings?"  
  
"The whole day." He stopped his lazy game. "And I want to be able to give you this for no particular reason," he added. He raised his hand in front of her, and from its grip released the pendant and necklace he had bought for her in Diagon Alley. He heard her sharp intake of breath as it dangled in front of her.  
  
"Severus, this is beautiful!" she exclaimed softly, and reached for the pendant. The diamond reflected the firelight in an incandescent shower of stars. It was his version of lover's light exploding in front of her. She took the necklace from him, and put it on. When she turned around, he saw that the pendant indeed fitted perfectly into the indentation at the base of her throat.  
  
She kissed him deeply for his gift. "Thank you, Severus."  
  
"Tenebrae seems to think it a good idea, too."  
  
He took the glass from her, and put it aside. The sparkle in his eyes was overwhelming. Hermione had no idea what had brought about his change of mind so quickly, and she didn't question it either, for she was glad that he had found a bit of joy for his life again.  
  
__ 


	39. The Gift

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Eleven  
  
The Gift  
  
Amos Diggory was sitting in the Minister's office. Severus Snape's letter was safely contained in the cardboard folder he was balancing on his knees. But the Minister hadn't shown up yet, despite his being late almost twenty minutes now. There had been enough delay already. Four days had passed since Snape's visit, and still nobody had deemed it necessary to decide whether Hogwarts' Potions Master was to receive the one ingredient he so desperately needed for his antidote. Amos had understood quite well the man's urgent tone, but what was he to do if the powers that be pushed the file from one side of their desks to the other? It wasn't that Severus only needed the snake milk for his own recovery. More was at stake here, but as always, people kept pushing responsibility away from them. This morning, Amos had sent a note to the Minister, pointing out the urgency of Snape's inquiry. Well, at least he was sitting here now.  
  
He watched the snow falling outside. Today, the weather wizards had adjusted the subterranean weather to the actual conditions outside. But in contrast to Muggle London, snow was settling on the wizarding city to remain until February. Muggle London was far too warm at the moment as though snow would settle on the city's surfaces for more than an instant before melting away.  
  
Amos loved snow. The world seemed peaceful in the silence of flakes settling, and even more magical when the snow glittered in the sun. The air was crisp and clear, dry, the perfect weather for long walks in the country. It always reminded him of how he and Cedric would-  
  
The door burst open, and in came the Minister, puffing, his heavy winter cloak - pinstriped, of course - even heavier with the wetness of the weather on it.  
  
"Diggory!"  
  
Amos rose, and shook hands with him. "Sir."  
  
"I'm sorry, I've been delayed." He threw is cloak over the back of the chair next to Amos, and settled down behind his massive desk, bringing some distance between himself and the other wizard. "Ah, I see you've been looked after," he said, indicating the empty cup of tea in front of Diggory. He moved some papers around on his desk, shuffled a bit and put a pencil into the tray where it belonged. "Tell me what I can do for you."  
  
"It's not for me, sir," Diggory began. "Professor Snape is still waiting for word regarding that snake milk he came to see me for last Monday."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Amos retrieved Snape's written inquiry from his folder, and handed it over. Fudge swiftly perused it, then flicked it on top of a substantial folder on guidelines concerning the size of toy-broom handles. "Well, I don't think we can allow that," he said eventually.  
  
Amos blinked. "Why not, sir?"  
  
"It would allow Snape to produce an antidote, wouldn't it?"  
  
"That's how I understood it, sir."  
  
"Now, imagine You-Know-Whose getting wind of this - and he certainly will - the danger in which we'll all be."  
  
"But what about Snape's arm?" Diggory argued.  
  
Fudge sighed sanctimoniously. "Well, we must all make sacrifices."  
  
"With all due respect, sir, but I think Professor Snape has made sacrifices enough already."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Amos," Fudge said, leaning forward, "the thing is, Snape has a past."  
  
Again, Amos blinked. "I'm afraid I can't follow you, sir."  
  
"Amos," Fudge said somewhat condescendingly, "we all know he used to be a Death Eater. Who knows if he's still with You-Know-Who."  
  
"Um," Amos began, "wouldn't he get what he needed from the Dark Lord, anyway?"  
  
Again, silence. Fudge reclined in his massive chair.  
  
"I won't authorise it," Fudge said eventually.  
  
Amos wouldn't give in quite so quickly. He couldn't agree with Fudge's reasoning at all - if you could call it that. "Why not?"  
  
"It's too dangerous," Fudge insisted. He obviously felt he was being unconvincing, for: "If that's all, Amos - I'm very busy these days."  
  
"Aren't we all," Amos managed. "What am I to write Snape?"  
  
Fudge gestured vaguely. "I'm sure you'll find some default excuse, Diggory." Then he turned his attention toward the fat folder on toy-broom handles.  
  
~*~  
  
Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were covered with a thick layer of snow, which had come quite early this year. The air was crisp and clear, and people's breath showed in white clouds in front of their faces. The children and youths had retrieved sledges from the dungeons and were racing down the slope from the castle to the Quidditch pitch. The slope was quite steep in places, and it were those places, of course, that were most popular. Already, fierce snowball fights were in full swing, and families of snow as well as igloos were being built. Dumbledore had arranged for the timetables to allow for two hours' lunch-break, since it was already dark by the time lessons ended.  
  
Severus and Felix had been detailed for supervisory duties that day. Both of them watched the frolicking children benignly, although only Felix would openly show his amusement. He was wearing snow shoes so as not to sink into the snow up to his waist.  
  
Severus' cheeks were rosy from the cold, and a ghost of a smile showed in the corners of his eyes. He was wearing the cashmere scarf Nora had given him, and expensive looking black leather gloves. The day before, he had used the extra time to fly, and it had been glorious. The freedom, even if in the cold, was an incomparable feeling, the air had caressed every fibre of his being. It was his way of expressing his positive emotions.  
  
"Any news from Diggory yet?" Felix asked. Several sledges that had started simultaneously had just crashed near the bottom of the slope, and the children were rolling down the foot of the hill giggling and laughing, a flurry of hands and feet and sledges.  
  
"Not yet, I'm afraid."  
  
Felix harrumphed. "Can you wait any longer, what with - well, Wings?"  
  
"I'm feeling quite well at the moment," Severus said. He met the older man's gaze.  
  
He beamed. "I would imagine that," he chuckled.  
  
Severus' eyes narrowed a bit. "What do you mean?" His voice sounded almost neutral.  
  
"Dear Miss Granger, of course."  
  
Severus looked at him hard. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
Felix shrugged.  
  
An owl was approaching them from south, a nondescript barn owl with a blue metal ring around one foot. It was a Ministry owl, marked thus so as not to fall prey to hunting Muggles or to be returned to the right place if lost or injured. Felix spotted it first, and he automatically felt in his pockets for a treat. "Well, I guess you're getting your answer now, Severus."  
  
Severus held out his good arm for the owl to perch on. Felix untied the letter from the bird's ankle and with a piece of shortbread sent her off to the Owlery to recover from the long flight.  
  
The Potions Master perused the letter quickly. Then he thrust it at Felix.  
  
"Well, what is it?"  
  
"They won't give it to me. Fudge claims it's too dangerous, and there's nothing Amos can do."  
  
Felix read through the letter, too. "Well, at least Amos is being honest. A default letter-"  
  
"What use is that to me," Severus grumbled.  
  
"Any chance to get it anywhere else?"  
  
Something in the other wizard's hopeful voice made Severus be honest. "Malfoy offered me help quite unequivocally."  
  
"Ah. And you couldn't possibly accept that, could you."  
  
Severus shrugged. "No."  
  
Suddenly, Felix understood. This wasn't only because of Severus' pride. It was because of Raven, or Wings, as his nickname appeared to be. "You'd have to tell the Ministry about Wings to convince them that the cure might be quite so unique that Nagini's venom would be useless."  
  
The younger man nodded. "Exactly." A pause. "I'd like to keep Wings secret as long as we fight Voldemort. If I told the Ministry, we'd lose an important asset. We can't afford that."  
  
The bell rang to remind the students that lessons started in a quarter of an hour. A collective sigh went through the crowd, and they collected their stuff.  
  
"Well, they would have to keep it secret, of course," Felix suggested.  
  
Severus shook his head. "Fudge would jump at any opportunity to prove me guilty of almost anything."  
  
"Minerva could mention the letter in her diary," Felix offered. They beckoned for the noisy crowd to go indoors.  
  
"That's just the thing that would outrage her," Severus agreed, his Slytherin smile playing about his lips and eyes. At this point, it was agreed silently between them that you had to be friends with the enemy in order to defeat him.  
  
They followed the crowd, and when they had turned around the corner, Henrietta Tumsole detached herself from the shelter of a nearby buttress. She had overheard the teachers' conversation. Although she was burning with shame, it also made her realise a couple of more things, even if she hadn't understood the bit about McGonagall's diary.  
  
"There you are, Ri!" Sebastian had returned in search for her. He turned around the corner and came towards her. "You okay?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Look, we have to talk," Sebastian began.  
  
"Can that wait until tonight? We'll be late for Transfigurations."  
  
"Promised?"  
  
"Promised."  
  
~*~  
  
The aching had started shortly into his lesson. He knew it well enough not to have to look at it in order to see its ugly burn. It was clear that it could not have been a reply to Minerva's diary entry. But it was equally clear that this wasn't just a visit of common courtesy. He'd already talked to Dumbledore, but this time he needed to talk to somebody else, too, before he left.  
  
"Do you really have to go, Severus?" Hermione's eyes were wide, and very brown, very moist.  
  
He embraced her tightly. "I must."  
  
Hermione saw that there was no arguing in this. "Just take care of yourself, will you."  
  
Severus smiled, despite the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I will." He cupped her face with his good hand, and bent towards her to kiss her deeply. He was still smiling when they separated.  
  
A little while later, he stood in a mouldering old shed on the premises of Malfoy Manor. He had been here before. Strange as this choice of meeting point was, it was just as obvious. Too obvious as though Aurors could find out Voldemort's true hiding place.  
  
"I'm here," Severus said, his breath hanging mistily in the air in front of his face. He shivered despite his mask and greatcoat.  
  
A figure detached itself from the shadows in the shed and stepped into the elongated rectangle of moonlight filtering in through the dirty window. It reflected off a serpent-shaped handle. Malfoy.  
  
"Severus," he greeted him amiably enough. He was not wearing his mask.  
  
Severus took off his own mask and put it into a pocket of his heavy cloak. Malfoy stepped farther into the moonlight until it fell on his white hair. It surrounded his pale face like the visible aura of his cold heart.  
  
"I'm a little disappointed," Lucius began.  
  
"And why would that be?" Severus asked coldly.  
  
"Well, I don't like it if people decline a gift of mine - and the Dark Lord's."  
  
They certainly hadn't heard from Minerva yet. So there must be an informant within the Ministry. And St Mungo's. Whoever had messed around with the blood-samples must have known of Lupin's inquiry, too. "Lucius, make your point."  
  
"Why?" Lucius drawled. "Is your little Mudblood waiting for her weekly shag?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Lucius." It was all Severus could do not to explode. At the same time, a curious feeling of déjà vu crept up his spine.  
  
"Of course you don't," Lucius laughed. "Don't worry, we don't want anything with her. For now. As I said, I'm a little bit disappointed you didn't ask me for Nagini's milk first."  
  
"Injured pride doesn't suit you very well, Lucius, never has," Severus said calmly.  
  
"Nor does it you," Lucius returned. He reached into an inside pocket of his coat and produced a small vial with a milky liquid. "Here, I believe this is what you need."  
  
"And what leads you to believe that I'll accept it?"  
  
Lucius gestured at Severus' arm. "Don't pity yourself just because a Mudblood doesn't want to fuck you."  
  
Severus didn't even flinch at this. However, he was cut to the quick because Hermione hadn't wanted more than snuggling yet. But he managed to push away this thought, this was neither time nor place nor company to discuss it. "Your concern is really touching, Lucius."  
  
Lucius made a couple of sounds of paternal regret and disappointment.  
  
"What makes you think I'll take that vial, Lucius?" Severus repeated.  
  
"Friends help each other," Lucius replied smoothly. He brushed a strand of moonlit hair from his shoulder.  
  
Severus snorted. Suddenly. Very suddenly, Lucius was standing very close to him, and Severus could feel the other wizard's breath, sour from too much Riesling. "This is not a game anymore, Severus. The Dark Lord is getting impatient, very impatient. It would be very unwise to change the rules."  
  
Severus elegantly raised an eyebrow at this - amusedly. Again, Lucius' situation of power and control was slipping from between his fingers, and he knew it. "You know, I never enjoyed Voldemort's games. They lose what little appeal they have far too quickly."  
  
"Trouble is, Severus," Lucius whispered, "that this time, it's personal."  
  
"Exactly," the Potions Master agreed, "and that's why there are no rules. Not that there'd ever been any to begin with."  
  
Severus didn't stir. It was exactly what he needed. If he decided to accept the vial, it would buy them some time - to find another source of snake milk. Voldemort would be placated for the moment, Lucius' ego would be tickled pink. And if anything should happen to the vial, Severus could always claim that it was Lucius' fault - side with the enemy and play them out against each other, that was his stratagem now. "I'll take it on one condition."  
  
"I don't think you're in the position to make demands, Severus."  
  
Severus raised his brows. "Oh, quite on the contrary." Malfoy knew as much, of course. "You'll forget about my student. Leave her alone."  
  
"Are you concerned about her?"  
  
"Yes. And there is nothing she'd be able to do for you. She doesn't know enough to be of any help."  
  
Lucius didn't reply at once. Eventually, he said, "All right." Actually, Diggory's letter had made the snow-globe quite useless. This was much better than having some child sneaking around the castle. He held out the vial for Severus. "I hope I'll hear from you as soon as there are news."  
  
Severus grabbed the vial, and Disapparated.  
  
~*~  
  
Sebastian, Ada and Dennis were waiting for Ri in their usual place. It was book-club night. Ever since Hallowe'en they'd found their friend's behaviour quite strange, and although Ada had admitted to the boys that she had a vague idea of what was going on, she had not told them anything. It was putting a strain on their friendship, and they felt that it was high time they did something lest everything go to pieces. They had fought hard for their group before, and they wouldn't allow for it to end thus.  
  
Finally, Ri climbed the spiral staircase to the gallery on which their favourite fireplace was, and slumped into the squashy armchair Dennis had pulled up for her. Almost instantly, a mug of hot chocolate appeared out of thin air.  
  
"Oh this was great," Ri began. "We really got a lot of work done today. If we continue like this, we'll be well ahead of schedule by Christmas." She noticed her friends' solemn mood. "So, here I am."  
  
"Yeah, well," Sebastian began.  
  
"We haven't seen much of you lately, have we," Dennis took over.  
  
"And we've been wondering if you're all right," Sebastian said. "Ada wouldn't quite tell us what's up."  
  
Ada shrugged. "I promised not to."  
  
"I am all right, thanks," Ri replied. "Really. Look, I think you're much better off if you don't know what's going on."  
  
"Why is that? Ri, we are your friends. If you're in trouble, we'd like to help you," Sebastian argued.  
  
"You can't help me."  
  
"Did you get into trouble because of Lovers' Light?" Dennis asked. "If you've got to sit detention with Snape, we'll-"  
  
"Well, at least you could say 'thanks for keeping us out of this'," Ri said angrily.  
  
Silence ensued.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ri," Sebastian began.  
  
"I bet you are! That stupid idea with that book of yours started it all!" Ri was being irrationally angry, and she knew it. But even her patience went only so far. "I wish I didn't know! Do you know what it is like when your dreams are trespassed on by Voldemort? Do you? I've seen it all, what he did to Snape, what he did to me - what he can do to all of us, and here you're sitting around-" She interrupted herself.  
  
Ada, Dennis and Sebastian were looking at her, disbelief and utter puzzlement clearly written on their faces, mingled with the terror at the shrill sound of You-Know-Whose name.  
  
"Doing nothing," Ada finished her sentence.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, what can we do?"  
  
"Unless you have snake's milk, nothing much, I'm afraid," Ri said.  
  
"I don't suppose you could tell us-"  
  
"No, Dennis, I'm afraid, I can't."  
  
He nodded. "Just ran out of my supply yesterday," he joked. It worked, the atmosphere became a little bit more relaxed.  
  
"Did he really ... get into your dreams?" Ada asked, quite aghast at the fact that although she had brewed the Draught of the Living Dead for Ri she had never really bothered to ask about her nightmares. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"Yes, to both."  
  
"You-Know-Who poisoned Snape, didn't he?" Sebastian concluded. "That's why you need snake milk."  
  
"Yes, but you mustn't know that. Snape got a letter from the Ministry today," Ri explained. "Fudge won't give it to him. Too dangerous."  
  
"Whatever is that poison for?" Dennis asked. "From what I gather Snape's injury is a side effect - there are enough poisons to that effect already. What does it do?"  
  
Ri shrugged. "I don't know, but it must have something to do with iThe Grey Book/i."  
  
Ada paled visibly. "But how ...?"  
  
"It's not your fault, dear," Ri said, "a portion of the book was stolen from Thorolf's painting in the York Yard of Yore museum. I think You-Know-Who used whatever he could get his hands on to throw together something or other."  
  
"Something very powerful, I daresay," Sebastian commented.  
  
Silence.  
  
"If only we could get some snake milk," Ri mused.  
  
__ 


	40. Perfect Deal

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
A/N: At the end of the chapter, I have included two drafts of the scene between Severus and Hermione -- to show you why it was so difficult to write this chapter, and as a goodie for your patience.  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Twelve  
  
Perfect Deal  
  
"I hope telling him to keep Henrietta Tumsole out of it wasn't a mistake," Severus mused. After Severus' return from Malfoy's, Dumbledore had come down to the Dungeons to see if he was all right. Now he was seated opposite the Potions Master, the vial sitting between them on the scrubbed tabletop.  
  
"We shall see, Severus," Dumbledore said. Either Malfoy kept his promise, or he didn't. There was no way to tell, particularly not with Voldemort in the back. True, Severus might have given them reason to believe that Miss Tumsole was deeper in this than anticipated, and thus endangered her - but then again, he might have sounded quite threatening, or convincing. Either way, they would have to look after Miss Tumsole carefully.  
  
"Well, what shall we do, Albus?" he gestured at the vial.  
  
"I shall keep it for you, if that it was what you would like me to do," Albus said.  
  
Severus nodded. This wasn't about trust, this concerned Severus' safety from the Ministry. "Then we'll have to see about getting the milk from elsewhere."  
  
"And keep the Ministry as a last resource," Albus concluded the thought.  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"How long until Voldemort's next summons?"  
  
Severus shrugged. "Minerva could write more for them; that might earn us a couple of days."  
  
"Have you ever thought of not ...?"  
  
This time, Severus nodded. "I have."  
  
"And?"  
  
"There is always a way for Voldemort to make me finish this job, and I won't allow for anyone to get hurt in this business."  
  
Albus nodded. And after a while: "And when you've found the antidote?"  
  
"He'll either make me create a better poison or kill me," Severus said calmly. "Which is more likely, since Raven's blood will make the poison fairly useless."  
  
Again, Albus consented. "What use would the poison be if only Animagi could travel by it - and even then they would need their individual antidotes." He looked at the younger man. His words weighed heavily. If, indeed, it was just a matter of adding the blood of the animal form of an Animagus, then they would all be in serious trouble. It wouldn't turn the potion too difficult to make, in fact, it was a small price to pay for silent Apparating. It would probably be enough to add serum to the potion to avoid having to take an antidote, Severus mused.  
  
They were in far more danger than they had thought.  
  
~*~  
  
It would take a while until he could tell Hermione, and if he was honest, he was glad for the delay. A minor catastrophe over some cheap romance novel needed sorting out in the Den - as if there weren't more important things! - and he remembered to prepare the following day's third year lesson. So when he finally made it to his rooms, he hadn't had a bite to eat, he felt sticky and tired.  
  
Taking a long, relaxing shower, scrubbing his skin pink, he waited for Millie to bring up a bowl of Mulligatawny soup and fresh bread. He practically wolfed down the creamy soup when it arrived.  
  
"Sir?" Millie had returned to collect the emptied dishes, and her fingers were interlaced in front of her chest, taking the heart to ask the forbidding Potions Master something.  
  
"Yes?" Severus was buttoning up a fresh shirt.  
  
"Sir, Millie wants to ask how long sir wants to keep the snow-globe in his office?" Her shaky voice sounded hopeful as it rose in question.  
  
"I don't know, why are you asking?"  
  
"Sir, Millie's house-elf friends are scared to come close to it," Millie asked, more confident now for the wizard's civility. "That it why sir's wastepaper basket hasn't been emptied, sir."  
  
Severus furrowed his brow. He was aware of the fact that the true nature of the snow-globe was, but he could not imagine why that should scare the house-elves so. They had to look after the lab and Sirius' office, as a matter of fact, and there were some pretty creepy things there, too. "Why is that, Millie? Why are you afraid of a snow-globe?"  
  
Millie's ears were quivering, and her eyes grew even bigger, if any possible. "It's dark magic, sir, very dark magic. Like Miss Weasley's notebook."  
  
Severus cocked an eyebrow at this. "Very well then, I shall remove it."  
  
A wide grin of relief lit the small creature's pale face. "Thank you, sir!"  
  
Shaking his head in bemusement, he sat on the sofa for a nightcap to go with his novel. It was too late now to talk to Hermione, but he couldn't do without reading a couple of pages before he retired. What in goodness' name did scare the house-elves so? They had some powerful magic of their own. It seemed as if he would have to take a closer look at the snow-globe. But not today.  
  
He had barely read a page, when a knock raised him from the sofa.  
  
It was Hermione.  
  
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked, and although he knew he could be honest with her and tell her that this was bad timing, he stepped aside and let her enter. It wasn't as if he didn't want to tell her at all - he just wanted more time to think things over. It was a difficult choice he had to make, after all.  
  
"I had hoped you'd come and see me after your return from the summons," Hermione began. "Albus told me at dinner that it was only Malfoy you met."  
  
"It seems he's the new negotiator. They intercepted Diggory's letter, and offered us a vial of Nagini's milk."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And," Severus drew a deep breath, "I gave it to Albus to keep it safe. I can't afford the Ministry getting wind of this."  
  
"You do realise this might be our only chance to find an antidote," Hermione said. A question wasn't necessary at this point. Severus nodded.  
  
He was well aware of the implications of his actions. Snake milk didn't keep for ever, even if stored accordingly. He also knew that the longer he waited, the lesser were his chances of full recovery. And all that because of some bureaucrats that made his anything but simple life even more complicated. Instead of trusting him, and his pledge of allegiance, they ruined one of their best chances. Rather, they sent in their own spies - and see where that had got them; nowhere, and to a lot of bereavement and difficult explanation to do.  
  
"Severus," she said, more urgently now, "do you really think this is worth it?"  
  
He cast her a strange look. He looked exactly like someone who just understood the other's train of thought. "Why, you are right. What have I got to lose?" There was a bitterness in his voice that she knew only too well, and didn't like at all.  
  
Hermione decided to take it lightly. "Well, what about me, for instance?"  
  
Well, what about you? he wanted to say, but bit his lip - metaphorically. Hermione was right. He would lose her. Lucius had won a small victory, after all, but he wasn't going to let him have its trophy. Lucius had planted in him the seed of second-guessing himself. His short little comment about Hermione and how she didn't want to make love to him had cut deeper than Severus would let on. And that angered him.  
  
Severus reached for her hand, and squeezed it gently. "How could I forget you?" He made an effort to look at her sincerely, warmly, and lovingly.  
  
"How indeed," Hermione whispered.  
  
"It was Malfoy; he made a stupid remark about you that rang too true for a moment," Severus admitted. If there was anything that could prevent the situation from getting any worse, it was honesty.  
  
"And what, pray tell, had his forked tongue drip into your ear?" Hermione asked, her syrupy speech masking her insecurity.  
  
Back were his doubts, nagging little voices in the back of his head. The replies to which he had found long ago, and spelled out loud as a counter-curse, but now they were back. More insistent this time. But how to put this without driving her away?  
  
"It is just his lack of imagination, dear." Something about the endearment made her listen up.  
  
"He can't imagine how I could want to be with you," Hermione concluded, "now, can he?"  
  
Severus didn't reply anything.  
  
"Can you imagine us together, Severus?" she asked, returning the squeeze of the hand.  
  
He took his time to answer. "I couldn't do all the things to you I'd want to." His voice had taken on a seductive, silken quality, despite any doubts he might have.  
  
Hermione's head was swimming. He desired her. He was wondering about them together, in bed. He was wondering if he could satisfy her, what with his impediment. He was wondering if she wanted to make love to him at all. Following a sudden inspiration, she raked her fingers through his dark hair. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as her fingers grazed his scalp. How to prove to him if not by deeds? "We'll work something out, my love," she whispered, very close to his ear.  
  
"Hermione," Severus purred deep in his throat. He opened his eyes, and looked at her. They were so resplendent with all the things he wanted to say, that for once, his mind could not formulate any one of them apart from the other. Hermione smiled at him, and let her hand rest against his cheek. He covered her hand, and led it to rest on his thigh, clasped tightly in his.  
  
Then, the moment was gone. "Hermione, do you realise that this won't be over and done with once we've found the antidote?"  
  
Again, Hermione experienced an instant of light-headedness. "What are you talking about, Severus?" There was no more space for endearments. And it all left her with a feeling of mental breathlessness.  
  
"Have you ever wondered about what will happen once we have found the antidote?"  
  
Hermione realised it wouldn't be as simple as along the lines of happily ever after, but she had been so absorbed in her work that she had not yet given thought to every last consequence, as minor as it might be. It was very uncharacteristic of her.  
  
"We are in more danger than we ever thought we were," Severus continued. "Voldemort will make us develop an antidote that is generally applicable, or improve Nagini's Venom."  
  
"Until now, Nagini's Venom would work exclusively for Animagi," Hermione muttered. "And what use would that be ... We don't know how many Animagi there are," she added, as an afterthought, meeting Severus' eyes.  
  
"Moody was right," she said. "We'd need to find a way of telling if a person is an Animagus."  
  
Severus nodded. "Or not finish the antidote or the potion, or both. Imagine what such a method would do to the intelligence service."  
  
"That's why you can't tell the Ministry about why the antidote is safe for the moment - because it contains your Animagus' blood."  
  
~*~  
  
"That makes the girl all the more valuable," Voldemort stated coldly after Lucius Malfoy had concluded his report.  
  
"It does indeed, my lord," Lucius agreed. He was quite satisfied with himself, and played idly with the serpent head of his cane.  
  
"We will wait a couple of days to see if Severus makes use of my generous gift. A couple of days won't matter, at least not to me. Not after this long a wait."  
  
Lucius smiled a haughty smile. He knew Voldemort's plans, of course. They would get hold of the girl - she would bring the copy of iThe Grey Book/i along - and that would take care of Severus' qualms about using Nagini's milk. Voldemort, naturally, had reckoned with that. He also took into account that the paralysis might turn out incurable after this long a wait - but then they would have the girl to test the antidote. They would send her back to Hogwarts, with a nice bite-mark of Nagini's.  
  
"Tell me, Lucius," Voldemort said, "if our lair is still suitable for our perfect deal?"  
  
"It is, my lord. The station is so busy that nobody notices a person disappear."  
  
"And the Muggle?" He was referring to Iagosson.  
  
"His body was found by a couple of tourists earlier this week. There seems to be no doubt about his death by accident."  
  
"Very good, Lucius. Very good." Voldemort's red eyes glowed dangerously.  
  
~*~  
  
She woke with a start, feeling as if she had just slumped back into her pillows. She was breathing hard, and a slight sheen of perspiration moistened the skin between her shoulder-blades and her breasts. The sheets and duvet had been kicked to the foot of her bed, and the air was uncomfortably cold on her skin. She pulled them up again, and covered herself up to the chin. But the warmth only intensified the slight throb that had pooled in her lower abdomen.  
  
The dream had been so sensually realistic that it took her quite some time to understand what was going on, to realise that what had just happened was just a dream, and just that - nothing more. In it, she had been with a man, and he had made love to her. She could still feel the dampness of the skin of his back, its softness, and she wasn't sure if she hadn't dug her nails too deeply into his flesh. The warmth was still present, but she could not recall his scent, or his breath in her hair, or what he had said. But she did know who the man had been.  
  
And that was why she was so shocked. She had thought she had got over him by now. But now the Potions Master invaded her dreams, and, in a way, her body.  
  
What was she to do? How could she face Snape again, what with that dream? The most embarrassing thing about this whole dream was that it hadn't been an unpleasant one, on the contrary. Her body had responded to it, quite naturally, quite well.  
  
Ri grabbed for her wand on her bedside table, and lit a few candles. She sat up in bed, and took a look around her room. The place in which the snow-globe had sat was empty. The door was closed, the chalk letter "C" on it was clearly visible - it was a trick of her grand-aunt's that kept ghosts outside her room. The "C" was short for Latin "clausa est", meaning "this door is closed". No one wanted Peeves to come for a visit in the oddest of moments. But she was alone.  
  
It had been quite some time since her last erotic dream, and this one wasn't a particularly powerful one - the power of its sensuality was what perplexed her so; and the name of her lover. Ri smiled. Worse things could happen. She knew that Snape would never do such a thing, nor would she. Not any more. She sighed, and lay back again.   
  
The dream was a strong reminder of the promise she had given her teacher.  
  
"Nox," she said, and in the darkness she returned her wand to its place on the bedside-table.  
  
__  
  
1st draft  
  
  
  
  
  
Shaking his head in bemusement, he sat on the sofa for a nightcap to go with his novel. It was too late now to talk to Hermione, but he couldn't do without reading a couple of pages before he retired. What in goodness' name did scare the house-elves so? They had some powerful magic of their own. It seemed as if he would have to take a closer look at the snow-globe.  
  
  
  
He had barely read a page, when a knock rose him from the sofa.  
  
  
  
It was Hermione.  
  
  
  
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked, and although he knew he could be honest with her, he stepped aside and let her enter. It wasn't as if he didn't want to tell her at all - he just wanted more time to think things over. It was a difficult choice, after all.  
  
  
  
"I had hoped you'd come and see me after your return from the summons," Hermione began. "Albus told me at dinner that it was only Malfoy you met."  
  
  
  
"It seems he's the new negotiator. They intercepted Diggory's letter, and offered us a vial of Nagini's milk."  
  
  
  
"And?"  
  
  
  
"And," Severus drew a deep breath, "I gave it to Albus to keep it safe. I can't afford the Ministry getting wind of this."  
  
  
  
"But isn't it just about picking the lesser evil?" Hermione asked. She sat down on the sofa next to him, her hand son his thigh. "Either you get trouble with the authorities for using an illegal substance - honestly, Severus - or you get trouble because of being an unregistered Animagus."  
  
  
  
"It's not that simple, Hermione," Severus sighed.  
  
  
  
"Why, pray tell, not?"  
  
  
  
"Because," he said, impatient all of a sudden, "it would be adding oil to the fire; the Ministry must think I'm working for Voldemort under their noses! Add Wings, and they'll have me in Azkaban in no time."  
  
  
  
Silence. "I hadn't considered that."  
  
  
  
"No, you wouldn't, silly girl."  
  
  
  
"Severus," Hermione said as calmly as she could, "I understand if you're frustrated, but please don't take it out on me." On second thought, that wouldn't be too bad, though. She snuggled up to him, kissing his cheek. "Is there an alternative?"  
  
  
  
"I could put the Den under detention," Severus replied.  
  
  
  
Hermione raked her fingers through his dark hair. She hadn't known until then what this gesture did to him. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as her fingers grazed his scalp.  
  
  
  
"Diggory promised to help," he said softly. "Unless I prove my utter loyalty to the Ministry - and honestly, what can I do? - there is nothing I can do."  
  
  
  
"Look for an alternative to Nagini's milk?"  
  
  
  
Severus shook his head, and turned to face Hermione. "There is nothing like Nagini's milk, not even phoenix tears or a bezoar will be of much help." Oh, he would have liked to touch her so much. But his good arm he had wrapped around her.  
  
  
  
Hermione noticed this. She knew that his tactile sense was unaffected by the paralysis. Gently, she removed his arm from its sling, and cupped his hand with hers to bring it to her cheek. The limp arm was rather heavy, even when he was helping. She smoothed her cheek into his palm, and doing so, she kissed the inside of his wrist. She smiled up at him.  
  
  
  
Severus looked very sad all of a sudden. "Hermione," he said, moving to let her know he just wanted his bad hand held, "don't kid yourself. You're too smart for that. Time is running out, we don't know how long until the damage to my arm is irreversible. It may already be too late."  
  
  
  
"What are you telling me, Severus?"  
  
  
  
His eyes hardened. "I can't ask you to stay with me."  
  
  
  
"Severus!"  
  
  
  
"You're far too young to be with a cripple like me. I can't even make love to you," he almost whispered. "I can't ask that of you."  
  
  
  
Hermione rose. "But you do love me?" There were a thousand other things she wanted to say to him, yell at him, hurl straight into his face, but ultimately, she knew, it boiled down to love. If she said the wrong thing now, it would all be over. And that, she couldn't accept.  
  
  
  
He didn't reply. He wanted to say that yes, he loved her, truly loved her. But he could not bring himself to say it. Someday, she would regret being with him. It was better to end it before it had properly began, when recovery would be swift.  
  
  
  
The muscles in his jaw knotted.  
  
  
  
"Well," Hermione said eventually, her voice unnaturally nonchalant. "Good night, then." When in fact she could hardly breathe anymore, and her throat constricted painfully. A strange lightness had taken hold of her, making her act normal in a situation that meant the end of life like it was. How could she have been so mistaken?  
  
  
  
Somehow, she made it to her rooms, where she finally succumbed to the painful sobs that threatened to stop her breathing. Now that she was in safety, her shock was wearing off.  
  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
  
2nd draft  
  
  
  
Shaking his head in bemusement, he sat on the sofa for a nightcap to go with his novel. It was too late now to talk to Hermione, but he couldn't do without reading a couple of pages before he retired. What in goodness' name did scare the house-elves so? They had some powerful magic of their own. It seemed as if he would have to take a closer look at the snow-globe.  
  
  
  
He had barely read a page, when a knock raised him from the sofa.  
  
  
  
It was Hermione.  
  
  
  
"Am I disturbing you?" she asked, and although he knew he could be honest with her and tell her that this was bad timing, he stepped aside and let her enter. It wasn't as if he didn't want to tell her at all - he just wanted more time to think things over. It was a difficult choice he had to make, after all.  
  
  
  
"I had hoped you'd come and see me after your return from the summons," Hermione began. "Albus told me at dinner that it was only Malfoy you met."  
  
  
  
"It seems he's the new negotiator. They intercepted Diggory's letter, and offered us a vial of Nagini's milk."  
  
  
  
"And?"  
  
  
  
"And," Severus drew a deep breath, "I gave it to Albus to keep it safe. I can't afford the Ministry getting wind of this."  
  
  
  
"But isn't it just about picking the lesser evil?" Hermione asked. She sat down on the sofa next to him, her hand on his thigh. "Either you get trouble with the authorities for using an illegal substance - honestly, Severus - or you get trouble because of being an unregistered Animagus."  
  
  
  
"It's not that simple, Hermione," Severus sighed.  
  
  
  
"Why, pray tell, not?"  
  
  
  
"Because," he said, impatient all of a sudden, "it would be adding oil to the fire; the Ministry must think I'm working for Voldemort under their noses! Add Wings, and they'll have me in Azkaban in no time."  
  
  
  
Silence. "I hadn't considered that."  
  
  
  
"No, obviously not, silly girl."  
  
  
  
"Severus," Hermione said as calmly as she could, "I understand if you're frustrated, but please don't take it out on me." On second thought, that wouldn't be too bad, though. She snuggled up to him, kissing his cheek. "Is there an alternative?"  
  
  
  
"I could put the Den under detention," Severus replied.  
  
  
  
Hermione raked her fingers through his dark hair. She hadn't known until then what this did to him. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as her fingers grazed his scalp.  
  
  
  
"Diggory promised to help," he said softly. "Unless I prove my utter loyalty to the Ministry - and honestly, it seems there's nothing I could do to convince them - there is nothing I can do."  
  
  
  
"Look for an alternative to Nagini's milk?"  
  
  
  
Severus shook his head, and turned to face Hermione. "There is nothing like Nagini's milk, not even phoenix tears or a bezoar will be of much help." Oh, he would have liked to touch her so much. But his good arm he had wrapped around her.  
  
  
  
Hermione saw the reason for his gazing at his arm in the sling. She knew that his tactile sense was unaffected by the paralysis. Gently, she removed his arm from its sling, and cupped his hand with hers to bring it to her cheek. The limp arm was rather heavy, even when he was helping. She smoothed her cheek into his palm, and doing so, she kissed the inside of his wrist. She smiled up at him.  
  
  
  
Severus looked very sad all of a sudden. "Hermione," he said, moving to let her know he just wanted his bad hand held, "don't kid yourself. You're too smart for that. Time is running out, we don't know how long until the damage to my arm is irreversible. It may already be too late."  
  
  
  
"What are you telling me, Severus?"  
  
  
  
His eyes hardened. "I can't ask you to stay with me."  
  
  
  
"Severus!"  
  
  
  
"You're far too young to be with a cripple like me. I can't even make love to you," he almost whispered. "I can't ask that of you."  
  
  
  
Hermione rose. "But you do love me?" There were a thousand other things she wanted to say to him, yell at him, hurl straight into his face, but ultimately, she knew, it boiled down to love. If she said the wrong thing now, it would all be over. And that she couldn't accept.  
  
  
  
He didn't reply. He wanted to say that yes, he loved her, truly loved her. But he could not bring himself to say it. Someday, she would regret being with him. It was better to end it before it had properly began, when recovery would be swift.  
  
  
  
The muscles in his jaw knotted.  
  
  
  
"Don't push me away, Severus," she said eventually. Softly. A lump rose in her throat.  
  
  
  
He met her gaze evenly, as if to dare her - or scare her away with his dark scowl.  
  
  
  
"It's my choice too, you know," she began.  
  
  
  
"And you've made some choices for me, Hermione, haven't you?" He was still addressing her by her first name, but his words were a slap round her face.  
  
  
  
And they earned him the imprint of her right hand on his cheek. The slap resounded in the silence of the room. Still, he was meeting her eyes. Shock was clearly written in them. "I-" she began. "I'm sorry, maybe I'd better go now."  
  
  
  
"No." His voice was raspy from his silence, and from the pain that made his cheek glow. "Don't go. Please." It almost sounded like a question. He rose, suddenly realising that if she left now, she would never come back. Never. Which would be just as well, after what he had just said. He was appalled at his own behaviour. After all that she'd done for him, was this his way of thanking her?  
  
  
  
Hermione raised her chin, a little defiantly.  
  
  
  
"I am sorry. Please forgive what I just said. It's-"  
  
  
  
"You at your worst," Hermione said.  
  
  
  
Severus merely nodded. But he seemed serious enough about this. He held his hand out for her in invitation to sit, and after a moment, she took it, and let him pull her into the squashy depths of the sofa.  
  
  
  
"Do you still want me in your life?" Hermione eventually asked.  
  
  
  
His response was immediate and honest. "I do."  
  
  
  
"Then why?" she asked. He was still holding her hand. If this was just about male pride - not merely Slytherin pride. They would find a way to make love, even if they wouldn't be able to cure his arm.  
  
  
  
"Pride," Severus said, almost spitting out the word. It was not so much that he didn't want to admit to it, it was rather because he allowed himself to be its subject. "I don't want you to be with me because of a vague feeling of obligation."  
  
  
  
Hermione sighed in disappointment. "Do you really think I would have kissed you if it were for that?"  
  
  
  
Severus looked at her. He had never realised she was so serious about kissing. It seemed so casual an affair these days to kiss someone and to sleep with someone. As if 'making love' had completely lost its meaning, that it had become an empty shell, a memory of happier days. "I hadn't realised ..." He trailed off. This wasn't about him being somebody's pet project, or charity case. This was about ... love, actually.  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione."  
  
  
  
Again, silence ensued. "You're a silly man, you know. When will you learn to trust your feelings?"  
  
  
  
"I do trust them," Severus said.  
  
  
  
Hermione smiled, despite herself.  
  
  
  
"I love you, Hermione."  
  
  
  
__ 


	41. The Potions Tutorial

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Thirteen  
  
The Potions Tutorial  
  
Ri's involvement in the Dark Lord's latest plot bothered her friends a great deal, particularly so since they were aware of the fact that there was nothing much they could do. None of them had the connections to obtain snake milk, and they were sensible enough not to plan anything behind the backs of the teachers, for they also knew how dangerous meddling in all things Dark was. All they could offer Ri was their full support.  
  
"You don't think we could find out what that poison is all about, do you?" Dennis asked. He was rather good at Potions, and Ri knew - much to her chagrin - that she had touched upon her friend's curiosity. Dennis' interests comprised more than Quidditch and clothes.  
  
"Fat chance," she replied, "look, they wouldn't even tell me. And I think that's quite all right."  
  
"What about the pages that were filched from Thorolf's painting? Any idea what was on them?" Dennis wasn't one to give up easily.  
  
Ri shrugged.  
  
"Maybe we could use a Pensieve," Ada suggested, even though she didn't let on her sparked interest as openly, Slytherin and all, as the guys did.  
  
"Great idea," Sebastian agreed. "Pity we don't have one."  
  
"Snape's got one in his office," Dennis offered.  
  
"Yeah, right, like he would let us borrow it," Ada snorted.  
  
"Not wittingly, that is," Dennis replied.  
  
All three of them looked at him as if he had just suggested putting up a bowl of milk for Mrs Norris. "Are you mad?" Ri shrieked in utter perplexity.  
  
Dennis shrugged.  
  
"You can't do that!" Ada gasped. "It's one thing to slip him Lovers' Light, but it's another to break into his office."  
  
"How long would it take to extract memories?" Sebastian asked. The wicked bit within him was warming to the idea. "Ada, you know about this kind of stuff."  
  
"But I'm not telling you!" she said. "Look what Lovers' Light got Ri into!"  
  
"Well, it can't get any worse than that, can it?" Dennis argued.  
  
Two pairs of eyes looked daggers at him. "What?" He turned his empty palms upwards. "What did I say?" He looked at Sebastian for help.  
  
Ri huffed. "Well, for one, there's those nightmares."  
  
"But you don't have them anymore, right?"  
  
This time it was Ri who looked for help. "It's pushing our luck!"  
  
"But you do want to do something, don't you?"  
  
Ri exhaled audibly.  
  
"It just needs careful planning," Sebastian argued, winking at her. "I happen to know that there's a staff-meeting tonight. Leaves us plenty of time to explore your memories."  
  
Silence.  
  
"If only I had made a copy of Thorolf's letter," Ri sighed.  
  
"That's all well and good," Ada cut in, "but aren't you forgetting something? Snape never leaves his office unwarded."  
  
Sebastian, all hopes for an adventure gone, sighed. "That could prove a problem indeed."  
  
Ada nodded. And smiled a wicked little grin. Her Slytherin grin. "Good thing there's a Potions Tutorial tonight."  
  
The others looked at her aghast. "There's a what?" they said in unison.  
  
"A Potions Tutorial," Ada explained.  
  
"Since when do we have something like that?" Dennis asked in utter disbelief. He would have known.  
  
"Since you offer it once weekly. There's no Quidditch practice on Mondays, I hear," Ada said smugly.  
  
Ri got her friend's drift. "Yeah, you wanted to suggest it to Snape right after class. Don't you remember?"  
  
Dennis looked utterly horrified. "But I can't-"  
  
The girls looked at him in a very familiar expression of raised eyebrows.  
  
There was no way out of this. Helping others was a good idea, and it would be good revision work. Maybe he would get an extra credit in his report. He sighed. It didn't mean that Snape did have to be around every time. Maybe the Old Bat trusted him enough. And what do you dream of at night? he asked himself.  
  
He sighed. "I guess I can."  
  
Sebastian grinned broadly. "That's the spirit."  
  
"I'll need help, of course," Dennis retorted.  
  
Just then, the bell rang, announcing the end of the lunch break.  
  
~*~  
  
When Severus returned to his office after class, he found a heap of shards on the floor next to his desk. A few wisps of smoke were uncurling from the shattered mass, and he could make out a spot of dampness. Was it-? No, there was no trace of the snow-globe. His Pensieve sat untouched on the far side of his desk.  
  
"Drat," he muttered. He had meant to study the device before the staff meeting. Knowing Voldemort, there was no doubt that the device, once shattered, was beyond repair. Knowing Voldemort, he had also a rough idea about what it had been. It must be something akin to Tom Riddle's Diary. He drew his wand to clean the mess up swiftly.  
  
But how could this happen in the first place? He had warded his office, as he was wont to do upon leaving it. The house-elves? No, they were too afraid to go even near it.  
  
He nearly jumped as something touched his legs, snuggled up against them. It was Tenebrae. He still wasn't used to the cat's sudden, soundless appearance. And that thought sent a shiver down his spine. If this had been a Death Eater travelling by Nagini's Venom, he could have been dead now, or hexed with an Unforgivable.  
  
Severus bent down, picked up the cat and settled her against his chest, supported by his arm in its sling. "Well, well," he purred. "You had me there, Tenebrae."  
  
The cat looked at him as if she understood exactly what he was saying.  
  
"Now, don't you ever do something like this again," he whispered.  
  
A sharp knock interrupted his bonding with his familiar. He whipped around, and found Dennis and Sebastian standing in the door.  
  
"Mr Creevey, Mr Leontes," he greeted them smoothly.  
  
The boys entered the room somewhat hesitant. "Good afternoon, sir," Dennis said.  
  
"Come in, Messrs," he said, putting Tenebrae back on the floor. She knew that the desk was taboo; and yet-  
  
"Sir, we were wondering if anything speaks against our holding a tutorial for younger students, sir," Dennis began.  
  
Severus' interest was sparked. A tutorial? He had an idea of what they were getting at, but he needed to see if they were indeed serious. He employed his eyebrow, gesturing for them to sit.  
  
"We were thinking about a Potions Tutorial," Sebastian continued.  
  
"Well, at least you've found the correct room; now that's a start," Severus said neutrally. It was fun to have them wriggling a bit. And all in good humour. He attempted to put a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"So, would it be all right with you?"  
  
Mr Creevey was, quite admirably, unflustered. "Well, what makes you think I'd let you in my classroom? It's being reduced to smithereens often enough during regular classes," Severus said, and, leaning forward, "so what makes you think I'd let you in here? Alone?" He looked them sharply in the eye.  
  
"Well, sir, we're in your advanced class, and-"  
  
"And that qualifies you?"  
  
"Well," Dennis replied, "we'd be doing the easy stuff, for the younger ones. That's why there's two of us."  
  
They were being serious enough about this.  
  
"Aha," Severus made, reclining in his chair.  
  
"Would you consider it, please?" Sebastian asked.  
  
"Why is this so important to you?"  
  
They exchanged looks. Got them.  
  
"End of term is drawing nigh, and some of the younger ones asked us for help," Dennis said quickly.  
  
That was fair enough.  
  
"I shall give you a chance," Severus said. There was something else going on about this, but he could not put his finger on it. "One chance. And if I find as much as one cauldron not properly cleaned or the blackboard not wiped, I shall get very creative. Is that clear?" He looked sharply at them.  
  
They nodded. A bit too smugly.  
  
"When do you want to begin?"  
  
"Tonight, sir," Sebastian replied eagerly.  
  
"If that's all right with you, sir," Dennis added quickly.  
  
Now Severus was sure there was some hidden agenda to it. "Well, at least I won't have to watch and witness, will I?" he said evenly.  
  
Again, an exchange of looks. Definitely got them.  
  
"Thank you, sir," Dennis said.  
  
"Of course, I shall give you a list, to ensure proper conduct and use of precious ingredients," Severus added. They were already halfway out the door, when he called, "Mr Leontes!"  
  
The Gryffindor turned around, anxious.  
  
"Why haven't you asked me earlier?"  
  
Really got them.  
  
He waved him away.  
  
~*~  
  
Ri promised the boys, once they had returned triumphant, to come and meet them in the Dungeons. Before that, however, she wanted to drop by her mother's to pick up yet another order of books. Sebastian made a face when he heard this.  
  
"Don't," Ri grinned. "You'll need your own books soon enough - or did you think you'll produce a lesson plan just like that?"  
  
"Lesson plan?"  
  
Ri rolled her eyes. "How many are coming, anyway?" she asked.  
  
The boys shrugged. "We'll just wait and see, I guess," Dennis said eventually, although he saw Ri's point regarding a lesson plan. He tugged at his friends' robes, urging him to come to his room and check his Potions books. They had already spread word about the tutorial, and, surprisingly enough, people had proved interested in the concept. Sebastian couldn't remember how often they had shaken their heads at the question of Snape's presence at the tutorial.  
  
"Make sure to see Flitwick before you leave," Dennis reminded her. It was too bad the Floo connection between her room and her mother's had been severed. Ri promised, and off she went to Flitwick's office, leaving two very uneasy and anxious young men behind.  
  
Permission granted, and a pouch of Flourish Floo Powder Flitwick had forced on her safely tucked away somewhere in her robes, she wrapped herself up in her warm winter coat, hat, scarf and mittens, for a very cold wind was blowing, driving fat snowflakes into her face. It really was a shame about that Floo connection. She could have spent the time she saved by not walking to Hogsmeade chatting with her mother and browsing new books, but so she would have to leave a quarter of an hour upon arriving to be on time for the tutorial.  
  
It was good to see her mum, even if it was only a short visit. Ri wasn't sure she would want to be separated from her mother for as long as the other students. She had never asked her friends about that, but homesickness had never been an issue for any of them.  
  
"Hi mum!" She kissed her mother's cheek. There were no customers in Quills and Quartos at the moment, which was perfect, that would leave a bit more time.  
  
"Hello, darling," Scarlet smiled. "Do you have time for a drink?"  
  
Ri shook her short dark curls. "No, I've got to be back for a Potions Tutorial."  
  
"Really?" Scarlet said in surprise. "I didn't know Severus offered something like that."  
  
"He doesn't," Ri laughed. "Dennis and Sebastian asked him for permission."  
  
Scarlet shook her head. "That doesn't sound very much like the Severus I know."  
  
"What Severus do you know?"  
  
Mrs Tumsole disappeared behind the counter to get her daughter's things. "The same as everyone else, darling, unless, of course-"  
  
"-he is in love," Ri finished the sentence for her.  
  
"Is he?" Scarlet's red, tousled bun appeared above the edge of the counter. Her dark eyes looked very serious.  
  
"I guess so." Ri nodded, leaning against the counter.  
  
"That's a surprise," Scarlet commented, disappearing behind the counter once again. A hand reached up to put a buff coloured envelope on the polished tabletop, followed by a pile of shrunk books, followed by the shop owner herself.  
  
"But I guess I'm happy for him," Scarlet added.  
  
It really was too sad about the Floo connection. Ri had a feeling that she could have asked her mother anything about Nora Loredan and Snape that afternoon. "You know, I'm happy for him, too," Ri surprised herself. "That stupid prank seemed good for something, at least."  
  
Scarlet nodded. "He could never explain to me what exactly happened to Nora. Why she became a Death Eater. It was so very unlike her. It felt as though I didn't know her at all, in the end."  
  
"That must be terrible," Ri sympathised.  
  
Again, Scarlet nodded. Then she shook off the odd moment. "Anyway, here are your things. The books you ordered for the club, and your Muggle Studies stuff. Very interesting, those fire makers are." She opened the envelope and out slipped a box of matches and a disposable lighter.  
  
"Brill! Thanks, mum." Ri collected the matches and lighter and slipped them into one of her inner pockets, together with the shrunk books. Then she paid with the money she had collected from the members of her book club.  
  
When she stepped out of her mother's cosily warm shop into the cold winter afternoon, a gust of wind whirled snowflakes into her face, and Ri felt as if she had ran headlong into a wall. Dusk was drawing nigh already, but the streets of Hogsmeade were as busy as ever. She chanced a glance at her watch: she had been longer than intended, so to make up for the lost time, she quickened her step towards the castle.  
  
She hadn't even passed The Three Broomsticks yet, when a strange, male voice called out for her. As she whipped around, a man detached himself from the crowd, and as he came closer, she could see he was a portly man, tightly muffled up against the cold. But she didn't recognise him. What could he want with her?  
  
"Miss!" he panted, holding out something to her. "I think you've lost something." Before Ri could turn round, the man had grabbed her hand and put something in her wool-covered hand. It was a Galleon. A galleon she was sure she wouldn't have pocketed so carelessly, even if she had one on her.  
  
It was also a Portkey, but when she realised that, it was too late. Already, she felt an unpleasant tug at her navel, and she knew that it was too late to drop the coin.  
  
She had already disappeared from Hogsmeade.  
  
She didn't see the Dark Mark the stranger conjured into the darkening sky before Disapparating himself.  
  
__ 


	42. Darkling Again

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Fourteen  
  
Darkling Again  
  
At first, Dennis and Sebastian snorted when they found Snape's relatively expansive list of do's and don'ts, but retrospectively they were glad for clear guidelines. Quite a few pupils turned up that night, from all houses and years: five to be precise, Dennis and Sebastian not included. It had been on a very short notice, granted. But their spirits lifted when those brave - or desperate - enough asked if Snape wouldn't turn up after all, or if he was late.  
  
"He's not coming," Sebastian said.  
  
"Yeah, guess it's too much of a pathetic drama for him to see our struggling," Dennis added, grinning.  
  
They looked at them wide-eyed, not quite ready yet to believe their luck.  
  
"Really?" a Ravenclaw second year asked.  
  
"Really really," Sebastian nodded emphatically.  
  
A collective sigh of relief echoed through the near empty class-room. Tenebrae, more popular among the student population of Hogwarts than unkempt Mrs Norris, was sitting in state on her master's desk.  
  
"Okay, let's get started," Dennis said, having had a look at his watch. "What is your problem?"  
  
A Hufflepuff fourth year snorted. "Snape is. I can't work with him breathing down my neck."  
  
Just then, catching her breath, Ada hurried into the decidedly better lit classroom. "Sorry I'm late. Where's Ri?"  
  
The boys looked at each other and shrugged.  
  
"Hasn't she returned from Hogsmeade yet?"  
  
"I guess she forgot time over a nice chat with her mum," Dennis grunted.  
  
Ada shook her head in disbelief. It wasn't like Ri to be late, especially when she had a date. And almost fifteen minutes! Without any further ado, she left the tutorial, and when Ri wasn't at her place either, headed straight for the staff room.  
  
~*~  
  
She hadn't seen Voldemort yet. That ratty bald little man had shoved her along tiled and badly lit underground corridors. The galleon he had given her - that dratted Portkey - was still enclosed in her fist. She was torn between her anger her oh so trusting nature and at the avaricious part in her that so eagerly grabbed at the coin. She knew she couldn't have dropped simply because she hadn't had a single galleon on her since she had bought books at her mother's.  
  
But he had taken her wand, which he carried in his left fist, grabbed firmly. Never before in her life had Ri felt so naked and defenceless. Wandless magic was an Art that only few ever managed to master, and she was certainly not one of them. She could do unintentional magic, though, but schooling had organised her mind to a degree that made this kind of outburst very rare. And she certainly was too calm for that now. Not that she was not anxious, or afraid, quite on the contrary. It was that kind of apprehension that made you gauge the situation first. She had never been the type that hexed first and asked questions later.  
  
The man had a silver hand. It must be Peter Pettigrew. Ri definitely didn't remember him from Snape's yearbook, but she remembered the stories - or was it urban legends - told about him, particularly after the end of the Triwizard Tournament. That was when Pettigrew had lost his hand. Had sacrificed it for You-Know-Who. Had killed Cedric Diggory, who then had been every thinking girl's favourite case of sex on legs. Know-thy-Enemy.  
  
They stopped at a nondescript green door. He opened it, and bade her enter. At least he didn't push her. What else could she do down here? Putting up a fight would be no good, because even if she managed to overpower the rat, she didn't have any idea of where to go. She had no idea of where they were, although she had an indistinct feeling that they were in some kind of Muggle underground structure. Maybe even London's tube system.  
  
The dim rectangle of light that slanted into the dark, tiny room didn't reveal much. A few blankets lay folded on the bare floor, other than that, the room seemed empty. And dark.  
  
"In you go, young lady," Pettigrew said with a flourish.  
  
Ri stepped into the room, didn't turn around when the door closed behind her, and the darkness enfolded her into its silence. At least she had an idea of where to grope for the blankets. The air in here was stale, but it must be ventilated, for what use would she be as a victim of suffocation? And indeed, there was a gentle draught. She didn't know where it originated, but she was sure that the slit underneath the door had something to do with it. A narrow ribbon of light appeared where the door was, like silver on the horizon, and she was glad for that little bit of illumination.  
  
She had never been one to be afraid in or of the dark, but this was different. The darkness was equal to her lack of information. Oh, she did have an idea of what this was about. But she did not know what role she played exactly. For that, she knew too little of the greater scheme. Obviously, she knew enough of it to fit into You-Know-Whose plans. Whatever they were.  
  
Ri became aware of a low rumble approaching, accompanied by an occasional screech of metal against metal, until it was almost deafening to her sensitive ears, and she was almost afraid that whatever caused that noise was coming through the far wall any moment.  
  
Which it did, in a way, for she discovered that, now that her eyes had got used to the darkness, she was locked in what seemed some kind of stationmaster's poky little corner. An incoming train's headlights blinded her through the dusty slats of a blind. The screeching and rumbling melted into a deafening sound as the train shot past, its windows illuminating the little room at short intervals. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.  
  
Ri had crashed into the door in a vain attempt to get as far away from the monstrous train as possible, and now that it was gone, she was squatting, her back against the door, shaking her head in disbelief. She was shaking all over, suddenly very aware in what kind of a situation she had got herself. You-Know-Who had had her abducted by Peter Pettigrew, one of his most loyal Death Eaters, and was holding her to ransom.  
  
She whimpered, all bravado blown away, gone with the train's slipstream, as she realised what was going on, curling up into a ball that made her remember warmth and protection, and knew no more.  
  
~*~  
  
It was long past midnight, and Hermione was standing at her window looking out into the silvery darkness that was a night of silent snow-fall. She had wrapped her shawl tightly around herself against the cold that entered unbidden through the window. But Hermione didn't feel like sitting on the rug in front of her fire-place and staring into the flickering firelight. It felt too comfortable, somehow. She wished, however, she could indulge in the quiet luxury of stroking a cat. It would help her to calm down, to think clearly. But no such luck was bestowed on her this night.  
  
Miss Gudrunsdottír's news had disrupted the planned meeting, only to be followed by more news from Hogsmeade. The Dark Mark was plain enough for everybody to see and know that after a quiet spell, You-Know-Who had begun to put his plans into action. And this in turn was a plain enough sign for Severus and Hermione that the game had started in earnest now. Voldemort wanted results, his patience had come to an end.  
  
If truth be told, Hermione didn't feel quite unequivocal about this. It was a relief to know that action was required now, especially with their having what they needed to make the antidote that would save Severus' arm. If it would save his life - well, that was something she didn't want to dwell on right now. It was more important that she remain calm now, take things one step at a time.  
  
She hated having to wait like this. Miss Tumsole had been abducted hours ago, and still there was no message from Voldemort regarding - well, his demands on which he would release the girl. There was nothing to be done now. Mrs Tumsole was with Dumbledore at the moment. She had come to the castle as soon as the Dark Mark and Ri's disappearance had been connected.  
  
Severus had withdrawn to Somewhere Else. She had wanted to go after him, because she dreaded the idea of his being alone in a moment like this, but Minerva had caught her by her flaring sleeve. They had shared a glass of brandy in her private study before Hermione had excused herself for the night. Talking to Minerva had already had a very calming effect on her. If only it weren't for Severus' solitude.  
  
Minerva had told her that it was up to Severus when to choose to turn to her for comfort.  
  
Hermione had looked at Minerva in surprise.  
  
"He does need comforting, too, you know," the older witch had said, a twinkle in her eyes that conveyed clearly what she thought of youth's misapprehensions in some matters. It was in no way patronising, rather the knowledge that she would realise one day.  
  
Hermione bit her lip.  
  
"Give him time," Minerva said. "Severus is a man who holds trust in very high esteem. He is torn between a feeling of having betrayed and having been betrayed."  
  
The Arithmancy teacher saw the point. Severus was not sure if Miss Tumsole had been abducted because he had let slip her name in a bad moment, or if Miss Tumsole had broken her promise. Or a third option that said that Voldemort had planned it all along.  
  
"What can I do, Minerva?"  
  
The older witch took her hands into her own. "Nothing, I'm afraid," she said, "but wait."  
  
So she was standing here, had been since she couldn't remember when, for eternity if you liked.  
  
And nothing had happened. Not even Tenebrae had appeared from Somewhere Else to caress her legs and beg to be picked up and stroked. Hermione hoped that she was offering this service of love to Severus right now. If love it was that cats felt, those fickle creatures. She had never managed to solve that mystery when Crookshanks had still been alive, but then again, why would she, when man has lived with felines for millennia without discovering their secret.  
  
The snow was falling in heavy, fluffy flakes, thickening the caps and blankets of the castle and everything around it, smothering, quieting the world as though nothing had happened. It was a deceptive tranquillity, and Hermione felt chagrined that this second favourite of all weather conditions should be tinged with that kind of sorrow - and all because of an orphan by the name of Tom Riddle.  
  
Eventually, finally, her musings were interrupted by a soft knock on her door. Releasing a breath she hadn't known she was holding, Hermione bade him enter.  
  
Severus closed the door behind him, but he didn't say anything. He looked pale, and tired, and the heartbroken expression on his face made Hermione close the distance between them and envelop him in her arms. Never before had she had the impression of him being small, or in the need for this kind of loving gesture. It was always he who made overtures when it came to physical contact, of whatever kind, but he had never struck her as a man to inspire gestures of comfort.  
  
She had been holding him for goodness knows how long without speaking a word, when a sob disrupted the silence. It was good that he broke apart like this, that he allowed for it to happen in her presence, in her arms even, but she had a notion that this was something not to be talked about once the spell was gone. And it was all right with Hermione. Severus needed this, and she gave it to him, her labour of love, and she would let him and it go without comment. A silent agreement.  
  
So she held him, stroked his shivering back, and felt his tears dampen the fabric on her shoulder, and she hummed. What else was she to do? Whispering little nonsense lies, hissing into his ear, making him shiver? She hummed, because she knew that he found it charming, a little tune until his tears subsided.  
  
She let go of him and turned away, toward the sofa. He wouldn't want her to see him like this. "Why don't we sit on the sofa?" and "Care for a drink?"  
  
His voice was clear when he said, "I'm tired, Hermione."  
  
Hermione turned around. Severus looked better now, traces of his emotional outburst still evident, but his skin had adopted a healthy rosy tinge. "Bed it is, then," she smiled. She took him by his good hand and led him into her bedroom. She undressed him one piece of clothing at a time, until he was standing there in his shirttails and briefs, and he let it happen, smiling down at her and burying his good hand in the mass of her hair, stroking her neck a bit, watching her. She then took off her own clothes, piling them carefully next to his on the trunk at the foot of her bed, slipping on her favourite peach-coloured satin nightgown.  
  
They fell asleep in each other's arms, having exhausted what little energy was left in them kissing and cuddling and caressing.  
  
Early in the morning, they woke to an urgent summons of Dumbledore's. Miss Tumsole had sent a message.  
  
~*~  
  
"How could she do that?" Severus was incredulous, yet at the same time very impressed with the girl's resourcefulness. The emotional chaos of last night was gone, thanks to his darling Hermione, so he could do anything possible to rescue Miss Tumsole. Frankly, he had been surprised that Scarlet had been so calm the previous night. "Has anyone informed Scarlet of the message?"  
  
"I sent her an owl," Felix said. "She's on her way here as we speak."  
  
"What did Ri write?" Hermione asked, looking at Albus, who had a scrap of paper in front of him on the desk. It looked as if it was a page torn from a book.  
  
Albus looked from her to Severus from above the rim of his crescent-shaped spectacles. "Peter pushed a Portkey into her hands. It took her to somewhere in the London Underground."  
  
"The Tube?" Hermione asked, incredulous at first. "It makes sense. There's a host of ghost stations down there, any of which would make for a good hide-out."  
  
"First an oilrig, now Muggle transport," Severus mused. "He never ceases to amaze me."  
  
"Does she have any idea which station it could be?"  
  
Albus shook his head. Just then, an early breakfast arrived from the kitchens, bowls of hot porridge, tea, toast, jam and marmalade, fruit from Madam Sprout's greenhouses. They settled in front of the fireplace and helped themselves. They had had only sandwiches last night, and so they were quite famished.  
  
"How did she manage to send the message anyway?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I gave her a small pouch of Flourish Floo Powder when she left for her mother's last night," Felix explained. "I thought it might be a good idea."  
  
"Sadly enough, she proved you right," Severus said, carefully eating the hot porridge.  
  
"Where did she get the fire?" Minerva chimed in. She had been silent so far. "Surely, Peter must have taken her wand."  
  
"Well, she had gone to her mother's for some books," Felix explained. "That's where she got the fuel for the fire. As for lighting it-" He held up his hands in a gesture that told everybody that his guess was as good as anyone else's.  
  
"Maybe Scarlet can enlighten us when she arrives," Albus said. He looked at his many-handed pocket-watch. "Which should be right about now."  
  
Just then, the door opened, and in came Scarlet Tumsole. You could see that she hadn't got any sleep that night. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes; she had only braided her hair and done without the elaborate styles she usually favoured. A chair was summoned for her, and before she was properly seated, someone had pushed a cup of tea into her hands. They were shaking so badly that she nearly spilled the scalding drink all over her lap.  
  
"Is it true?" she asked, "she sent a message?" Her dark eyes were close to swimming in tears.  
  
Severus shivered, as much from the cold he felt as well as from Scarlet's overwhelming emotions. "Yes, Scarlet, it's true." Then he continued to explain to her what he had just learned himself.  
  
"We were just wondering how she managed to start a fire without the help of her wand," Albus finished for Severus.  
  
Scarlet laughed shortly, a sound smothered by sniffling. "I gave her Muggle fire makers for her Muggle Studies class. She has to talk about Muggle fire makers in class next week. A friend sent those things. You know how much of a haptic person she is."  
  
Hermione nodded, smiling. "Is it much like Peter to forget about searching her other pockets over taking away her wand?" She looked at the others in the room.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Minerva said.  
  
"Glad for it, more like," Severus grunted. Searing pain was coursing through his left arm, which he clutched tightly to his body. It made him feel dizzy, and suddenly, he wasn't that hungry anymore. He pushed the halfway emptied bowl of porridge away from him.  
  
An owl demanded to be let in by tapping her beak at the mullioned window. It was the same nondescript Ministry bird that had delivered Amos Diggory's letter. Severus recognised it because of the blue metal ring around its foot. "Ah," Albus hummed, and got up to accept the letter and give the owl a treat. He would have let the bird in to warm up a bit, but it took flight as soon as it had swallowed the food offered.  
  
Everybody looked at the Headmaster expectantly as he perused the Ministry letter. He put it down with a sigh. "The Ministry are not going to do anything when Lord Voldemort sends word of his demands."  
  
"Just as expected," Felix commented.  
  
"But she's only a child!" Scarlet said shrilly. "An innocent child! What has she got to do with this, anyway? Why did you get her into this? Why?" The last was addressed at Severus, who was sitting pale and not quite following her in his chair.  
  
"I-" he interrupted himself, "what are you-"  
  
"It's your fault that Voldemort took her! You drew her into this! Pulled her over to the dark side. She's only a child, Severus. She trusted you. How could you betray her so?" The longer Scarlet spoke, the calmer she became, until nothing was left in her but sobs.  
  
Severus was speechless. Scarlet was right, of course, he should never have even thought of sending Henrietta to York, in retrospect, of course, because at the time it had seemed like an innocent enough job for an equally innocent student. He looked at Albus for help.  
  
"Wasn't it good enough for you what you did to Nora?" Scarlet said tunelessly.  
  
"Nora worked as a double agent for the Ministry," he explained calmly. "When she got into trouble, they let her down and abandoned her. I didn't know it at the time."  
  
"What?"  
  
"She risked her life, posing as a Death Eater to reign me, the real Death Eater, in," Severus continued, oblivious now of his pain and his audience. "She did it for love. You know that she was like that."  
  
"She never told me anything about it," Scarlet replied tunelessly.  
  
"Henrietta helped me because she had a bad conscience," Severus continued. "And yes, I took advantage of her. But you have to believe me that what she did seemed perfectly all right and not dangerous at all at the time."  
  
"I gratified that idea, Scarlet," Albus added. "She was meant just to go to York and ask a few questions, nothing more."  
  
"She's still gone!" Scarlet hissed. "You meddler!" she turned on Albus. "Why do you always take advantage of whoever comes your way? And always children, or people in your power," here she gestured at Severus, "I-"  
  
Suddenly, Albus seemed very old, and everyone realised that the excuse that he did for the greater good was worn. The Headmaster was good at fighting Voldemort, but it had also become his obsession. And Hermione realised that she, too, had been in Dumbledore's power ever since she agreed to teach at Hogwarts. In contrast to Scarlet, however, she had been aware of that fact somewhere in her subconscious, and so she didn't feel as angry as the bookseller. But she sympathised with the woman.  
  
"I am sorry, Scarlet," he eventually offered. "I promise you to do everything I can to get Ri back to you unharmed."  
  
Scarlet merely nodded.  
  
__ 


	43. In the Serpent's Lair

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
by Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Fifteen  
  
In the Serpent's Lair  
  
By the time classes started, they still had not heard anything from Lord Voldemort. It was not an easy day to teach and to learn. The Quartet, or what remained of it, had been summoned after breakfast and sworn to secrecy by Minerva. They must under no circumstances let on anything of which had happened since last night to their fellow students, but were promised in return to be kept informed about what was going on. That was all Minerva would offer them, and Ada, Dennis and Sebastian were grateful - and scared - enough to accept the offer.  
  
Scarlet Tumsole's outburst had surprised all of those present in the Headmaster's rotund office, the paintings included. What was more, she was right in her accusations. Everybody had to admit that, particularly since many had been thinking along those same exact lines. Albus Dumbledore had become obsessed with the fight against Voldemort; as noble as his goal was, it had long since slipped out of his control. True, the Order were still loyal, still fighting, but the waiting was what put everybody on edge. Every crisis avoided meant an even longer fight against Voldemort.  
  
Hopefully, this time they would be able to put an end to all this. Too many had died and suffered from this endless, pointless war. Minerva sighed as she watched the three young people walk away to their respective classes. She had had to ask them to tell anyone who inquired after Ri that she was down with something nasty and highly contagious in the Hospital wing.  
  
On top of all this, she was very concerned about Severus. He hadn't looked very well this morning, and she hadn't missed his grimaces and how he had cradled his injured arm to his body. He had been - and still was - in pain. Obviously, his Animagus' powers of stopping the venom were spent, and little wonder it was after this long a time. She would make it a point this afternoon to talk to Severus and Hermione; they would have to brew the antidote as soon as possible, no matter what. Severus' life was at stake, and the girl's too, and she wouldn't allow some bureaucrats to make a choice for them. She just hoped that Nagini's milk hadn't spoiled yet.  
  
Felix blamed himself for it had been he who had let Miss Tumsole go. It was little comfort to him that he had provided her with Flourish Floo Powder which had helped her to send them a message. If he hadn't let her go, had insisted that an owl take the delivery up to the castle, Miss Tumsole wouldn't have been abducted. It was worse on him than any accusation of Scarlet's. He ought to have insisted that Miss Tumsole not go alone. They had all been lured into a false sense of security by You-Know-Whose uncharacteristic patience.  
  
She went to her desk, but the stack of Picea Parchment sat there as pristine as ever. It was a long wait, and Minerva had a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't communicate with them via the enchanted paper.  
  
Once again, her instinct proved to be dependable. During lunch break, which had been shortened to its usual duration again, Severus was summoned through the Dark Mark on his left forearm. It was heartbreaking to see Hermione's reaction to this, even though she managed to hide her fear for Severus well from most of the people in the Great Hall. Minerva would have liked to embrace her to show her compassion and understanding, but a brief squeeze of the hand had to do. Hermione smiled gratefully.  
  
Albus didn't say anything to Severus before he left, he merely nodded, which could have meant just about anything. Minerva felt uncharacteristic anger at him well up inside her. She felt so left alone in this, even though there was nothing much she could do but support Hermione, and wait with her for Severus' return. She turned away when Severus kissed her good-bye, not out of embarrassment but to offer them a little privacy. Then she hurried away to inform Scarlet of Severus' summons.  
  
~*~  
  
Severus was glad for the silver mask that hid his face from most of the onlookers, if not from Voldemort. Wings had retreated into somewhere deep within him, so there was no danger of betraying his Animagus to the Dark Side. His face was glistening with sweat, its translucent drops standing out against his pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes. He was shivering, but he pulled himself together not to let any of this on.  
  
He ended up in a photo booth somewhere on the London Underground with Pettigrew waiting for him outside. It was good that Severus roughly knew where the summons would take him, because this left him more time to find out where exactly on the London Underground he was. Through the closed curtain he took a peek outside, but there was nothing much he could see except for crowds overtaxed with heavy alterations. But he spotted a sign reading "Thameslink".  
  
"Touch the back panel, Snape," Pettigrew hissed. He pulled open the curtain and blocked the view with his stocky body. "Hurry."  
  
As expected, the back panel of the photo booth shimmered out of existence and opened on a disused service access passageway. Severus stepped in, followed closely by Pettigrew. The back panel shimmered back into solidity behind them, and not a single pair of eyes had noticed anything going on inside the photo booth.  
  
Pettigrew instructed him to open the door that appeared in front of them after some fifty metres. It gave on a passenger tunnel connecting platforms with exits and links to platforms of other lines. Only that this tunnel was empty, and from the smell in here had been out of use for quite some time.  
  
"What is this place?" Severus asked.  
  
"Disused Tube station," Pettigrew grinned. "A ghost station, if you will."  
  
"Never would have guessed," Severus sneered.  
  
Pettigrew then seemed to remember his job, and he urged Severus to lead the way. He grabbed his bad elbow to show him which direction to take.  
  
After a few turns and steps, they finally reached their destination: a disused Muggle Underground station indeed. The walls were tiled in green and cream colours, with directions and the name of the station worked into them like a crude mosaic: King's Cross.  
  
It suddenly became very difficult for Severus to suppress his shivering. This time, Voldemort had come too close for comfort. First the threat of soundless Apparition, now he inhabited a ghost station right under King's Cross, the British wizarding world's premier and most important train station.  
  
As if on cue, Voldemort appeared from a passageway that led Merlin-knows-where. He was wearing his usual black, hooded robes, and his eyes were glowing a fierce red through the eye holes of the silver mask. If it weren't for their colour, one could have thought he was just any Death Eater. Again, Severus had a hard time disguising his shiver. At least Nagini was nowhere to be seen.  
  
"So, Severus," Voldemort hissed.  
  
"Lord Voldemort." He forced the name and title out. If only there had been time to take a potion for the pain. It would have helped him to think clearly, too.  
  
"How is our little project progressing?"  
  
He hated the conversational tone. "Other things have come up."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like an abducted student," Severus said.  
  
Voldemort laughed his wheezy, hollow laugh. It pierced Severus' hurting arm.  
  
"Oh, and then I thought it would help to invite her here," Voldemort said, "help to jog your memory. This is very important to me."  
  
Severus remained silent.  
  
"Well, don't you have anything to say?" Voldemort asked.  
  
"Send the girl back," Severus eventually said. "She has nothing to do with this."  
  
Again, Voldemort's hollow laugh. "Well, she has now. That's the fun of bringing in innocents. Spices things up a bit."  
  
A pause.  
  
"I want the antidote."  
  
"I want to see the girl."  
  
Again, a pause.  
  
"All right, then," Voldemort agreed. He was desperate enough for the antidote to humour Severus. "Wormtail, bring the girl."  
  
Severus heard Pettigrew walk away. His steps echoed in the empty tunnels.  
  
"Did Nagini's milk help you like it did me?" Voldemort continued in his best conversational tone.  
  
"It will," Severus said.  
  
"You haven't used it yet?" A hint of panic tainted Voldemort's voice.  
  
"Proper timing is essential in this case," Severus replied calmly. Years and years of lying had assured him of the power of his words. They came easily and bent to his will most obediently. "We have to wait for the ingredients to be just ripe enough."  
  
"Ah." Voldemort seemed to be appeased by the lie. Potions had never been his strong point, but then again, it had taken Severus himself long enough to come up with this rather simple antidote. No need to let any of that on, though.  
  
Just then, Pettigrew returned with the girl.  
  
Severus removed his mask, and turned towards Miss Tumsole. Horror was plainly written in her features, but there was a determination in her dark eyes that showed her very strong will to pull through this. Suddenly, he was very proud of her. He acknowledged her presence with a nod.  
  
"You see, she's alive and kicking," Voldemort said.  
  
Miss Tumsole started at his words. She pulled her winter cloak together tightly. From appearances, neither Voldemort not Pettigrew had any idea of the fire she had started last night.  
  
Severus nodded.  
  
"Now," Voldemort suddenly said, his voice raised, "I understand that the ingredients have to add their bit, but I also need you to understand that I need that antidote."  
  
Severus nodded, not entirely sure what Voldemort was up to next.  
  
"Maybe, you need some more incentive to get to work," Voldemort continued. What could be heard next in the empty subterranean station was the hissing and clicking sound that was typically Parseltongue. From the corner of his eye, he could see Miss Tumsole start yet again, but she couldn't move for Pettigrew's firm grip on her upper arm. And then he realised.  
  
But it was too late as though he could do anything. Nagini appeared very suddenly out of nowhere, and sheer horror bound Severus and rooted him to the spot more effectively than any binding spell could have. The giant snake pounced on the girl with amazing power, and buried her fangs deeply in the girl's shoulder, only centimetres short of her neck and the jugular.  
  
At first it seemed as if she didn't realise what had happened, but the wide eyes of surprise failed to show. Pettigrew let go of her then, and she covered the bite with her hand. Her eyes met Severus' steadily, but her lips thinned into a harsh, white line. Blood was leaking profusely from between her fingers from deep flesh wound.  
  
And then Severus knew nothing more himself.  
  
~*~  
  
An hour earlier, the young wizard, a foreigner, had entered Scarlet's shop to browse and to look for certain titles in particular. He had been recommended Quills and Quartos, and Scarlet was glad and happy to help him with his quite extensive reading list.   
  
She was grateful for the diversion he created. Still, there hadn't been any news from the castle, and so she put all her energy and concentration into her work. Thankfully, not only for business, it had been a busy day so far.  
  
Her foreign customer was enjoying a cup of tea by the fireside while she was wrapping his shopping up. There were a couple of antique books among his purchases that needed careful wrapping. She was almost done when a loud noise announced the arrival of an Apparating wizard. The sound was accompanied by the wet shattering sound of her china, and a surprised, horrified gasp of her customer.  
  
At first, Scarlet was irritated about people Apparating inside her shop - it was something decent wizarding folk didn't do, an unwritten law pertaining to etiquette. And it had obviously disturbed the foreign customer, she added silently, but angrily.  
  
She was about to say something to the rude person, when she heard the foreigner say with a slight accent: "Ms Tumsole, I think you'd better take a look at this."  
  
Scarlet froze, put down the scissors very carefully, as if hampered by a spell.  
  
Ri.  
  
Her daughter was the only thing she could think of.  
  
Instants later, she had swept around the table and bookcase to see who it was that had disrupted her shop's peace and quiet.  
  
Sprawled all over the Potions Master's chest lay her daughter, tightly clutching the man's robes in her bloody fists. Snape himself appeared to be unconscious, smears of blood stood out starkly against his sallow skin, and he held on to Ri as if his life depended on it.  
  
"Good Gracious," Scarlet whispered.  
  
The foreigner was kneeling beside the odd pair, bent over them to examine them. "They're alive," he finally said. "But they need a Healer."  
  
"Yes," Scarlet said, calmly, automatically. See where all that blood comes from.  
  
Just then, Ri stirred, and when Scarlet knelt next to her and made her look at her, Ri whispered a name.  
  
"Granger."  
  
Snape barely seemed to breathe.  
  
"Get ... Granger."  
  
"Yes, darling, I'll call her." Scarlet had no idea what this was all about, what this horrible story her daughter had got drawn into was about. But she knew that Hermione Granger was into this, and that she could trust her. She had known her since Hermione had been a child, when she had first entered Quills and Quartos with shining eyes, and had spent many hours in the shop.  
  
The foreigner summoned a towel to put as a compress on Ri's shoulder. He had there found to be the source of the bleeding, soiling his artfully embroidered handkerchief.  
  
Scarlet initiated the link between her fireplace and Madam Pomfrey's, speaking only, and explained quickly what had happened, and that Professor Granger's presence was required.  
  
Afterwards, Scarlet had no memory of how and when Ri and Snape had been spirited away to the Hogwarts infirmary, or how they had managed to Apparate to her place in the first place.  
  
"Thank you," is what she remembered saying to the foreigner, returning the cleaned handkerchief to him.  
  
__ 


	44. Brew Glory, Bottle Fame, Even Stopper De...

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Sixteen  
  
Brew Glory, Bottle Fame, Even Stopper Death  
  
Brew Glory  
  
Hermione was standing at the window, looking out into to heavy snowfall that had picked up at Severus and Ri's arrival in the hospital wing.  
  
What had happened was unbelievable, a stroke of unbelievable luck. A divine being must be very much inclined to their cause.  
  
That did, of course, not include Severus' condition. When he had appeared with Ri in his arms in Mrs Tumsole's bookshop, he had already been in a coma. At first, they had hoped that he was only unconscious, but it soon became clear that his body had shut down in the face of the tortures it had had to endure. Now, Severus was once again occupying a bed in the teachers' ward. Hermione would have preferred it if they had taken him to his own bed, but she soon saw that Poppy could look after him better the closer he was to her.  
  
However, Hermione had taken it upon herself to clean him up. There was blood all over him, and she wanted to make sure that none of it was his own. He was unharmed, but the scars she found on his body, old scars, made her shiver nonetheless. She suddenly had the impression as though she hardly knew the man she loved at all. It was the first time that she seen him bare-chested, and for several minutes, she could only stare at him. What he must have gone through as a spy. How they had always belittled - and questioned even! - his efforts for the Order. Hermione felt very ashamed, and powerless.  
  
The only thing she could do was not fail him now. And she would do anything in her power to achieve that.  
  
Eventually, she charmed a T-shirt on him. Kissed his forehead.  
  
"I won't allow you to go, Severus," she had whispered to him. Then she had turned to the window and watched the fluffy flakes deepen the snow.  
  
Poppy, who had been waiting in the door, cleared her throat.  
  
"Sorry, Poppy," Hermione managed. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes.  
  
"Ah, that's okay," the Healer said, entering the room. "Is he hurt?"  
  
"No."  
  
"That's some good news," Poppy said. "You should come and talk to Miss Tumsole."  
  
"Is she ... awake?"   
  
"Yes," Poppy smiled, triumphantly; but it was triumph that wasn't owing to her abilities as a healer. "She's got a lot to tell you."  
  
"What about Scarlet?"  
  
"She's with her now. Come on."  
  
A thick, white bandage was quite visible beneath Ri's nightshirt, and she was a little pale, but other than that, she looked fine. She was sitting up in her bed in the main room of the hospital wing. Scarlet was with her, fussing over her.  
  
"Professor Granger!" Ri called in relief when she saw Hermione.  
  
Hermione walked quickly to her bed, smiling. And wondering at the same time. If she was awake that meant that she hadn't been poisoned. "Hello."  
  
"How is Severus?" Scarlet asked before her daughter could draw the breath to speak.  
  
"Not well, I'm afraid." Hermione decided that honesty was the least these two women deserved.  
  
"Will you be able to help him?"  
  
"We hope so." Hermione tried to be brave, and calm. She focused her attention on mother and daughter, instead. She heard Poppy's starched aprons rustle behind her.  
  
"Mum, I need to talk to Professor Granger!" Ri said urgently when it became evident that her mother wanted to add more.  
  
"Go ahead, dear," Hermione encouraged her.  
  
"I wasn't poisoned by that snake," she said. Hermione nodded. That much was evident.  
  
"But Professor Snape doesn't know that. And Wormtail. And ... You-Know-Who. They think I was poisoned. But it was just a flesh wound."  
  
Hermione stared at her. If that was the case that would give them a unique opportunity. "Are you quite sure? That they were tricked?"  
  
The girl nodded. "Yes. Professor Snape - he was so weak he couldn't Disapparate us. He asked me to 'wish us home'."  
  
"That's what he said, 'wish us home'?" Hermione asked. She needed to be absolutely sure of this.  
  
Again, Ri nodded. "Is this what it's all about? The poison can get you places?"  
  
"Roughly, yes," Hermione said. "I'll explain it to you later, okay?" The girl seemed satisfied with her promise.  
  
"What is the name of the Tube station?"  
  
"King's Cross. It's a ghost station," Ri replied.  
  
That was when Poppy joined in, her tone polite but authoritative. "That's enough for now, Professor. Miss Tumsole needs some sleep."  
  
"Of course," Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Ri, you've helped us a lot. Get well soon."  
  
The girl beamed at her, and her eyes lit up for an instant. Before that, Hermione hadn't realised the residual fear and shock in them, the need for security and safety. "It'll get better, Ri," she added.  
  
~*~  
  
Hermione had summoned Felix, Minerva, Poppy and Albus to Severus' private lab. They were listening intently to what Hermione had to tell them. Ri's report was quickly explained, as were Hermione's conclusions.  
  
"Pettigrew must have milked Nagini before she bit Miss Tumsole. Something Voldemort did must have irritated Pettigrew into betraying his master," Hermione said.  
  
"Whatever the reason, it's not important right now," Albus dismissed.  
  
"Maybe it's due to the debt he owes Potter," Minerva murmured.  
  
Everyone nodded. They knew what had happened in the Shrieking Shack so many years ago. "So, where's our chance in this?"  
  
"It buys us time," Hermione explained. "Voldemort only gave us snake's milk enough for one dose of the antidote. But we need two now, of course."  
  
"You're going to ask for more?" Minerva asked, incredulous.   
  
Hermione nodded. "Besides, what he's already given us is spoilt," she continued, picking up the vial, uncorked it and upended the contents into the stone sink at her end of the work table. Minerva's eyes widened in horror and lack of understanding.  
  
Albus, however, as well as Felix and Poppy, watched Hermione's little scene calmly. "He'll give us more - as much as we like, I daresay," Albus said, resting a calming hand on Minerva's arm.  
  
"He is desperate enough for the antidote to comply with our request," Felix added.  
  
"And you can put Picea Parchment to good use one last time, Minerva," Dumbledore said, a little too cheerfully.  
  
"That milk was really spoilt, wasn't it?" Minerva asked, calmer now. This had been almost too much for her no-nonsense policy when it came to the safety of the ones close to her.  
  
Hermione felt that they'd had enough of bantering. This was Minerva's limit, and stretching it further was not a good idea. Minerva was a very caring person, and making fun of this was absolutely unacceptable behaviour. "It was spoilt, Minerva. Believe me."  
  
The woman nodded sternly.  
  
"I'll alert the Order then, summon everyone to Grimmauld Place," Albus said, his cheerfulness gone. The point had come at which they had a chance to end the war. Voldemort, blinded and self-absorbed as he was this close to triumph, was prone to make mistakes. The most advantageous of which was remaining at King's Cross. Most likely, he would stay to make sure that his plan developed as he had intended. But they could only be sure of that when he sent word of when and where to pick up the new vial of snake milk. By then, the Order would be ready to strike.  
  
"King's Cross?" Felix sounded as if he didn't trust his sense of hearing. "It's a bit close for comfort, isn't it? Even as a disused station."  
  
Albus nodded. "Quite cunning, too. There's no better hiding place than right under our noses. Well, we'd better tend to our tasks now, hadn't we?"  
  
~*~  
  
Bottle Fame  
  
The antidote was finished. It swirled, a light blue colour, in Severus' smallest cauldron, awaiting the last ingredients - the blood of Wings, the milk of Nagini. Only when those two agents were added would the antidote develop its desired effect. And it would probably spoil within half a day or so, at least that was what Severus had assumed. Another factor that made the entire affair quite pointless. Again, Hermione wondered who was behind that bad job that created so much misery. Never before had she encountered such an immature piece of work.  
  
She was on her way to Severus when Dumbledore's light footfall behind her made her stop and turn around. The Headmaster looked solemn, but the sparkle behind the half-moon spectacles betrayed his mood.  
  
"Headmaster," Hermione said, smiling softly at him.  
  
"How is Severus, my dear?"  
  
"Cold, I hope," she replied. "Poppy has cast the Algeo Corporem on him again, just to make absolutely sure. And out of pain. She found a way that hopefully alleviated his pain a bit."  
  
Albus touched her arm in sympathy. "Minerva has written to Voldemort."  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. That meant waiting now.  
  
"Are you sure you don't want to come to Grimmauld Place and wait for word there?"  
  
She shook her head. "I'd rather stay here with Severus."  
  
"Yes, that's what I thought." Albus nodded. "Well, I'll be off then."  
  
"Good luck," Hermione said, smiling at the old man. He winked at her, and was gone in an instant betraying his age.  
  
To her great surprise, Henrietta Tumsole rather than Poppy was with Severus. She must have stared for an instant upon entering the room, for the girl rose quickly from the chair beside the professor's bed. She flushed, at a loss for words. Eventually, she managed, "I'm sorry, professor. I ... I didn't mean to intrude."  
  
"No, you didn't at all," Hermione said warmly to the girl. "As long as Madam Pomfrey doesn't mind. I'm sure she reckons you should still be in bed, doesn't she?" The girl nodded, but there was that horror and pain in her eyes again that almost broke Hermione's heart. She bent to touch Severus' cool, bluish skin. His bad arm. The tattoo dark on it, standing out against the unhealthy colour. "How are you, Miss Tumsole?"  
  
"Good," Ri replied. Her relief was quite obvious, but at the same time there was something in her tone that suggested there was more she wanted to say. "Shall I make tea?"  
  
"Don't bother, I'll do that," Hermione said. Ri sank back into her chair, her knees still wobbly. She seemed at a loss for words again.  
  
"Go on, talk to him," Hermione encouraged her. "I'll get us some tea."  
  
"Sure," she mumbled. Suddenly, the little speech she had prepared eluded her, and she looked helplessly and embarrassed at the prone form of her teacher. Severus Snape was wearing an ordinary T-shirt rather than the grey flannel thing that had found its way into Hogwarts legend. She smiled a bit.  
  
His peaceful, calm expression told nothing about the agony he had been in, when he had whispered to her to wish them home, back at King's Cross. Never before had Ri seen the effects of Cruciatus. Whatever she had heard and read about it didn't do justice to what she had had to witness. The professor had doubled over, writhed on the floor in sheer agony, reduced to a howling, miserable bundle. And there had been nothing she could do. The pain in her shoulder was nothing compared to what Snape was going through. She had to stand by helplessly and watch.  
  
"So I Apparated us home," Ri suddenly spoke out loud. The funny thing was that she didn't remember summoning up the courage to embrace her teacher. Perhaps there had been no need to. She had merely wanted to make his shaking stop, and only the weight of her body seemed strong enough. Add to that the fear of leaving him behind.  
  
Hermione returned with two mugs of tea. "That was very brave of you."  
  
"Hm," Ri nodded absentmindedly. Hermione decided then to tell Ri what this was all about. The silent Apparating and the antidote, Thorolf's book, Wormtail's betrayal.  
  
"Couldn't he be a double agent, too?" Ri asked. The question hit Hermione out of the blue. For a minute or so, she was utterly speechless. Could Wormtail be a double agent indeed? He had played double already, working for the Dark Side. That had cost the Potters' lives. No. Wormtail simply didn't have it in him to work as a spy.  
  
"No, absolutely not," she replied. "Maybe he hoped he will get away more easily when it comes to trial. He owes Mr Potter, you see, and maybe he deemed this an opportunity to repay him."  
  
Ri pondered this for a minute or so, obviously agreeing. "So what's going to happen now?" she continued. "What about Professor Snape?"  
  
"He will be all right, Henrietta," Hermione said, in a hopeful tone whose origin eluded her.  
  
Ri finished her tea and turned towards Severus. "I came to tell you I'm sorry for what happened."  
  
"It's not your fault, Henrietta."  
  
The girl didn't seem convinced. "I poked my little nose farther in this than I should have."  
  
"It wouldn't have changed anything if you didn't," Hermione tried to explain. "Going to York was enough for Voldemort to know that you were our sore point."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
There was nothing Hermione could say without lying to her. "Thanks for sitting with him."  
  
Ri rose to leave. "It's the least I could do." Then she looked a last time at the still form of her teacher, as if to convince herself that he was really safe now.  
  
"You saved his life, you know," Hermione said, suddenly inspired. But Ri didn't reply, she only, hesitantly nodded. Hermione had a feeling that all this would take some time to sink in yet.  
  
Then, Hermione was alone with him. She took his bad hand into hers. It was cold, so Poppy's spell was working fine. All she could do now was sit here with him and wait for a reaction, for a letter from Voldemort.  
  
As though she had read Hermione's thoughts, Minerva appeared in the doorway, a sheet of Picea Parchment in hands. Hermione turned around to acknowledge the older woman's presence. Minerva closed the distance between them and wordlessly handed her the letter.  
  
Hermione read through it carefully, once, twice.  
  
"I guess I don't have any choice."  
  
Minerva wanted to protest, but she already knew that it would be both fruitless and pointless. "I suggest you Floo directly to Grimmauld Place," she said almost tunelessly. "I'll stay here with Severus. Use Albus' fireplace. The password's chocolate frog."  
  
"Thank you, Minerva." Hermione couldn't resist the urge to embrace the woman. Then she hurried to find The Grey Book and the notes for the antidote, as requested in the letter, and her cloak.  
  
~*~  
  
The air in King's Cross was even staler than it usually was in Tube stations. Already, black patches of soot were staining the green and cream tiled walls above the torches. At least they had been sensible enough to use cold fire, or the fire alarms would have been set off. Wormtail had met her in a photo booth in the crowded topmost level of King's Cross St Pancras Underground station, where Muggles hurried home during the rush hour, annoyed by works and aimless, self-absorbed tourists. Hermione didn't stick out in that eclectic mix of clothes in the least. Inside the photo booth, Wormtail had ushered her into the deserted tunnel, and from there on the old, draughty platform. There were no mice scurrying between the tracks, not with a snake of Nagini's size in residence.  
  
Hermione's heart was hammering inside her, and she clutched the bundle of papers tightly against her chest. She knew she wasn't alone here, apart from Wormtail and Voldemort that was, and it reassured her to a certain degree. The Order would have surrounded the station upon Minerva's word.  
  
"Miss Granger," a voice suddenly wheezed. "We finally meet." Voldemort had appeared out of nowhere, as it seemed. Hermione's attention was instantly drawn to the red, fiery slits his eyes were, in the unnatural reptilian face his once handsome features had contorted into. "I trust you have brought everything I asked for?"  
  
Hermione held the package out for him. It was the real thing: The Grey Book and the notes that contained the formula for the antidote. "I have. And I trust you have everything you're offering in exchange?"  
  
Voldemort's skinny, spidery hand reached inside his robes, and for an instant Hermione thought he'd withdraw his wand, but he produced a vial similar to the one she had upended into the drain in Severus' private lab. Only it was bigger. Hermione allowed herself a mental breath of relief.  
  
"What makes you so sure I'll give you what you want? Now that you're here, with everything I want?"  
  
What indeed. But Dumbledore couldn't be that wrong, could he? Hermione swallowed hard. Spy work was nothing for her, she realised. "What makes you sure the antidote works unless we try it on Snape and the girl?" she countered. Fear was inspiring indeed.  
  
Voldemort laughed a derisive little laugh. Wheezy. "Clever. I'll have to give you that. So the formula works?" Voldemort said coldly.  
  
"It should," Hermione replied. "But we didn't have a chance to test it yet." She was not lying to the Dark Lord. It would - should - work fine for Severus.  
  
Voldemort nodded in the general direction of Wormtail, who took his cue and demanded Hermione's package in exchange for the milk. Of course he would hand over the package first before returning to her with the vial, and that was when the Order struck.  
  
The members of the Order of the Phoenix appeared out of thin air, from the darkness of the tunnels and unlit passages and connecting tunnels. Tonks was there, her hair flaming red, and Kingsley Shacklbolt, towering menacingly, Moody, Remus, Sirius, Albus, Neville, Arthur, even; quite a few faces she didn't know. And, of course, Harry Potter. Their wands at the ready, the had the element of surprise on their side. Normally, they would have outnumbered their adversaries by far, but this was Voldemort. And possibly a handful of Death Eaters that would be summoned. Wormtail was not a problem.  
  
Hermione threw herself on the floor, summoned the vial and the package that Wormtail had dropped in surprise, and rolled out of the range of the spells that crisscrossed the space above her in fiery, vivid colours. Once or twice, a spell came dangerously close to hair, and she could even feel it brush past her hair. The hissing of the spells, hurried steps and cries of men and women filled the station, and the torches flickered even more on the whirlwind the air had apparently turned into. An eerie light filled the hall, a mixture of the jets of light erupting repeated off the wand tips.  
  
Just as she'd expected, Death Eaters began to materialise as if growing from the floor and ceiling, and they joined in the fighting. With horror, Hermione noticed, peering over the edge of the platform, that one Death Eater had spotted her and was hurrying towards her. As though he had already cast a spell on her, she squatted there, unable to move.  
  
Suddenly, a lilac curse hit him, and he doubled over.  
  
Someone, the caster of the spell, grabbed her by the upper arm and hissed into her ear that she Disapparate this instant. It was Remus, and she could see the fear and excitement in his eyes when their gazes briefly locked. The last thing she heard before the world shimmered out of existence around her was the incantation of the Death Curse.  
  
Her blood curdled at the words. "Avada Kedavra."  
  
Brew Glory.  
  
And she didn't know whose voice had produced this horrible sound, when instants later she Apparated in Grimmauld Place. But there wasn't much time to spare for dwelling on this thought any longer. She found the tin of Floo Powder on the mantelpiece in Sirius' kitchen, and hoped that she could step through the emerald flames before Kreacher noticed her and had a chance to alert Mrs Black. She threw some Floo Powder on the small fire, and stepped into the flaring fire. The emerald tongues licked around her body without causing harm.  
  
"Dumbledore's office!"  
  
~*~  
  
Even Stopper Death  
  
She hurried to Severus' lab, where the basis of the antidote was swirling patiently in its cauldron. Hermione retrieved a sample of Wings' blood, putting the package on his desk. Before she added the last two ingredients, however, she calmed her breathing down, and referred to her notes to make sure she got the correct quantities. She measured a portion from the milk, the rest of which they would keep for further examination, which she purified and then added - breathlessly once again - into the light blue basis. Then four drops of the blood, added with a pipette. The potion turned into an awful shade of violet first, then became a clear, thin liquid, almost like water. When she ladled the liquid into a feeding cup, it nearly filled the container. This should do. It was all they needed. She put on the lid, and hurried to the Hospital wing.  
  
"Thank Goodness you're back!" Minerva exclaimed as she turned to the sound of Hermione's hurried footfall.  
  
"Quick, get Poppy!"  
  
Minerva squeezed her hand briefly as she rushed out to cry for the Healer. A brief thought flitted through Hermione's mind; calling out she could have done herself, too.  
  
Poppy arrived only instants later in the professor's private room. Hermione was holding the feeding cup like the treasure it was. "So this is it."  
  
"Yes," Hermione said. Her hands were shaking a bit.  
  
"How are the others?" Poppy asked.  
  
"Fighting, Remus made me Disapparate," Hermione reported.  
  
"Very reasonable," Minerva commented.  
  
A pause. Everyone looked from the feeding cup to the prone form of the Potions Master and back. Poppy had lifted the freezing charm off his body, and his skin had taken on a more or less healthy looking rosy colour. The Healer put the back of her hand against Severus forehead, then her hand disappeared beneath the sheets. She withdrew her hand a blink later, satisfied.  
  
"Well, shall we?" she asked, when neither Hermione nor Minerva moved.  
  
They nodded.  
  
Hermione passed Poppy the cup. "Shouldn't you ...?"  
  
Hermione shook her head. "You're more experienced at this than I am. I would only spill half of it."  
  
Hermione and Minerva supported Severus' back and head. It was unbelievable how heavy he was. Hermione claimed his bad hand. Minerva smiled briefly at her at this gesture. Then Poppy put the feeding cup to Severus' lips and with her wand at the ready, looked the youngest witch deeply in the eyes. "So this is it. Are you quite sure?"  
  
"I am, yes," Hermione confirmed. No, she wasn't at all. But it was the only- nonsense, Severus had approved it, too. It must work. It must.  
  
"Well then." Poppy murmured a short incantation that made Severus swallow despite his healing sleep. His head was resting against Hermione's chest, in the crooks of the two women's arms, and Minerva held it for Poppy the easier to administer the antidote.  
  
Some of the potion dribbled down the corner of his mouth, but Poppy was quick to dab it away. The movement of his Adam's apple reassured them that he really swallowed the antidote. Hermione was just about to let him sink back into the pillows, when a seizure took hold of his body, and he bucked in her arms.  
  
Minerva, startled, retreated quickly, but Poppy grabbed the man's shoulders and helped him to sit up. His eyes were widened as he gasped for breath as though he were drowning. None of them had expected the antidote to work as fast as it did. But then the poisoning must have been as efficient.  
  
"It's working!" Hermione exclaimed, beside herself with joy. He was answering the gentle squeeze of her hand, he was holding on to her hand, not strongly, but it was more than a mere reflex of the muscles. Severus gulped in air greedily, and then Poppy and Hermione lowered him carefully back onto his pillows.  
  
"Calm down, Severus," Poppy instructed him. "Take deep breaths."  
  
"Everything's all right, Severus," Hermione whispered. "Everything's going to be all right."  
  
His breathing calmed, and he finally came round to realise what was going on. He was still squeezing Hermione's hand. Thanks to the massages and exercises she had put him through, his muscles were strong and responding.  
  
"Hermione," he said softly.  
  
~*~  
  
A day later, Scarlet came to see him. Severus was quite surprised when she knocked on his door. He hadn't expected her to drop in - well, maybe to drop in to talk with him about Ri. But in the end she stayed for the better part of the afternoon.  
  
"Let us not talk about what either your daughter or I did for each other," Severus said at a point at which Scarlet's gratefulness began to overwhelm him. He liked it when people appreciated the work he did - who didn't - but there was a point at which it became embarrassing.  
  
An awkward silence ensued. There was little they had to tell each other ever since Nora's death, and since Ri was good at Potions there was no reason for Scarlet to go to the forbidding Winter Creature as a concerned parent seeking advice.  
  
"You are right," Scarlet said eventually. She was ready to forget about what Ri had done out of a sense of gratitude for the Order. "It is just as if I didn't know you at all."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow at that. "It has been a long time," he began, referring to Nora's death, of course, "and people do change." He gestured for Scarlet to sit by the fireplace, getting up and slipping into his silver-grey robe to join her there. He didn't like it when people treated him as if he were ill. Not when it was a serious topic as this.  
  
"You know I love Nora," he began.  
  
"Why did you join the Death Eaters then?" Scarlet could obviously not understand why the love for a wonderful woman like Nora would make a man want to be a Death Eater.  
  
"There isn't really an explanation. I joined because most of the Slytherins in my year did. Or because they needed me," Severus said.  
  
"That's important to you, feeling useful," Scarlet pointed out.  
  
Severus looked at her, surprise evident in his dark eyes, as was a hint of stubborn denial. "You have to, at one point of your life."  
  
Scarlet nodded. She knew Severus, or thought she had known him. He had never related much of his home to her. He might have to Nora, but Nora had been a loyal person. She had been one Severus had trusted completely. But it had been quite evident that even his parents hadn't wanted him around. His intelligence scared them off, as it did many other people. They just didn't know what to say to him, when all he wanted was the feeling to be included in Hogwarts life to a certain degree.  
  
"And Nora alone wasn't enough?"  
  
It took a while until he said, "Yes and no. She was a Ravenclaw. She liked solving mysteries, but she never put her findings to practical use. It was all theoretical about her."  
  
"Except her painting," Scarlet added.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Still, I don't understand."  
  
"Scarlet," Severus replied patiently, almost wanting to take her hands into his, "this is something I can't tell you. Because I don't know anymore. Why can't we put this to rest? I loved Nora. They made me watch her being tortured and die."  
  
There was hardly anything more horrible than that. And this was not a question of how Severus could redeem himself. He had, as soon as he had become a spy.  
  
"Was she the reason why you became a spy?" It was the last thing she wanted to know.  
  
He shook his head. "I'd already been one. I had to stand by and watch what they did with my work, to what use they put it, perverted it. It made me want to stop them."  
  
"Hence your wish to be Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."  
  
"Yes." He even managed a smile. He wanted to be honest with her, and his wish made him turn his sarcasm into a benevolent smile.  
  
The bookseller answered with a smile in turn, and it made a shiver run down Severus' spine. It was frightfully easy to be friendly, and liked by other people.  
  
"Thank you, Scarlet, for coming," he said.  
  
Scarlet was about to get up, but this time he reached out for her - with his improving arm - and lightly touched her sleeve. "I didn't mean for you to go," he said. "Stay, and have some tea with me."  
  
Suddenly, Tenebrae appeared out of nowhere, and leapt onto the Potions Master's lap, eyeing the visitor carefully.  
  
"It's a beautiful cat," Scarlet said, reaching out for her black fur.  
  
"Her name's Tenebrae," he replied, "she found me one day. Sometimes I think she's a Kneazle or part Kneazle, but no one can tell for sure."  
  
"She's a very special cat, then."  
  
"She scares Mrs Norris."  
  
Scarlet laughed for the first time that afternoon, and it reminded Severus of the reason why they had been friends once. Neither she nor Nora had wanted anything from him, they had accepted him for who he was, and he had felt comfortable with them. Too late he realised that he had never been their pet project. Their friendliness had been genuine and unassuming.  
  
And Scarlet hadn't changed. He still felt comfortable in her presence, and this feeling made him want to know more about her, get to know her again.  
  
__ 


	45. Epilogue

Disclaimer: see Introduction  
  
Wings  
  
By Claudia  
  
Book Three  
  
Epilogue  
  
Ada, Dennis, Sebastian and Ri were standing in Severus' Dungeon office, quite uncertain of what was to come. Snape was sitting in his high-backed chair on his side of the desk and looked at them one after the other. The Potions Master had recovered very quickly after he had gone after Ri. The three others wanted to acknowledge what he had done for their friend, they just didn't know how to go about it. They did not fear their teacher so much anymore, and their respect for him was a genuine one. And he had changed a lot in the past months.  
  
"I believe this belongs to you, Miss Gudrunsdottír," he eventually said, rising to return The Grey Book to its rightful owner. Ada accepted it, but was reluctant about it. She looked at it hard and long. Then she held it out for Severus.  
  
"I don't want to have it back, sir," she said. "There is too much black magic in it for my taste."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow at this. That, he certainly hadn't expected. "Very well." He accepted it and put it on the desk in front of him.  
  
"How is the Potions Tutorial going, gentlemen?" he continued. He had taken his time to recover from the poisoning, a week in fact.  
  
"Quite good, sir," Dennis said.  
  
"You are keeping it up, of course."  
  
Dennis and Sebastian exchanged glances. "Of course," Sebastian said, as if there had never been any doubt.  
  
Severus nodded. Ri thought she saw the ghost of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, but it was gone too quickly. She did see, however, the twinkle in his eyes.  
  
"Sir," Dennis began when the silence became uncomfortable. "We've been meaning to tell you ... to thank you for what you did for Ri."  
  
Severus looked at them.  
  
"So," Sebastian jumped in, unsure what to make of the silence, "thank you."  
  
The Potions Master nodded.  
  
Quite relieved, they left the office. Only Ri remained at the door, then turned around and went back to the desk. Severus gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite him. "Miss Tumsole?"  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry," she began. "I just wanted to make sure you're all right again."  
  
The girl's genuine concern and care touched Severus deeply. He tried to show it in a small smile. "I am fully recovered, thank you for your concern, Miss Tumsole. Actually, it is my turn to thank you. You saved my life."  
  
The girl blushed a deep crimson at his words.  
  
"Your skills at Apparating are admirable, Miss Tumsole."  
  
"Fear can be very inspiring, sir," she said.  
  
Severus nodded. "And at Potions, too," he added, feeling mischievous. "But then your friends were in on it, too."  
  
If any possible, Ri blushed even more.  
  
~*~  
  
Voldemort was dead. Gone. Killed.  
  
Of course, it had been thanks to Harry Potter. Dumbledore had said something about a prophecy fulfilled during the celebrations at Hogwarts. The hero himself was absent, engaged in something more illustrious and obligatory down in London. But it was thanks to Hermione's quick thinking that the Order finally got the chance to storm the Dark Lord's lair. She didn't insist on claiming her share of fame and glory, though. Hermione preferred her relative anonymity up here. She had saved her beloved's life and once again proved the acuteness and power of her intellect. Wormtail and a couple of Death Eaters had been captured; Wormtail was awaiting trial in Azkaban right now - his actions toward Ri wouldn't be much of a help, though. All in all, it had been a brief battle, and the Order had walked out of it triumphant, without any losses, only minor injuries.  
  
It wasn't all over yet, though. Some of the Death Eaters would probably want to avenge their leader.  
  
As it turned out, Nagini's venom was indeed unusable because the antidote required the user's Animagus blood. And even then it could cause a lot of harm and injury. Of course, in the final report for the Ministry, the top secret information about Severus' Animagus, Wings, had to be included. In commendation for his services to the wizarding world, he was only required to take lessons with the most accomplished of Animagi in the country - Minerva McGonagall.  
  
But this was a thought as far from Severus as any other that didn't involve the woman in his arms. It had taken him long enough to claim her for himself only. After the celebrations were over, Hermione lay finally wrapped around him in the bed, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. His bad arm was improving rapidly, and it felt good to feel her warming hair there.  
  
Somehow, he managed to draw the sheets and duvet over them against the cold, and he was drawing idle patterns on the skin of her shoulder, examining the dimple the joint produced in this position.  
  
She played with the light dusting of hairs on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Then she chuckled, a deep, gentle sound he felt reverberating against his chest.  
  
"What?" he asked, sleepily.  
  
Hermione let go of him and sat up. She bent over him to reach for the elegant crystal flute of champagne that sat on the nightstand.  
  
"I still can't believe you actually have to take those lessons with Minerva." She sat back, completely at ease with her state of dishabille. The star pendant nestled perfectly into the indentation at the base of her neck.  
  
"Ha ha," he made, sitting up to reach for his own glass. He pushed a strawberry into her mouth to silence her. Then he kissed her, a deep, bubbly, sweet kiss, during which he set her glass aside, and pushed her deeper into the pillows.  
  
End 


End file.
